


Not Just For Christmas...

by GillNotJill (Wynja2007), Runewif (Wynja2007)



Series: The Angel Blake Chronicles [1]
Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: AU, Action Man, Awkward questions, Christmas, Deceptive Appearances, M/M, New Job, One person's stuff is another person's treasure..., Self-Discovery, Sodom and Gomorrah, Sparkly Auras, Tinsel, Wings, christmas trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 59,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/GillNotJill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Runewif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan is homeless, and not quite all he seems...<br/>Gethin is a harassed bookshop owner.<br/>Jeff has a very persuasive way about him, sometimes.<br/>And it's Christmas.</p><p>A modern AU intended to invoke heartwarming Christmassy feelings all around and which plays shamelessly with the canon...</p><p>As ever, opinions expressed are those of the characters and not necessarily the author.  Particularly the religious ones...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Room At The Inn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



> A Christmas gift for Telemachus, who introduced me to Dominic West's dance moves, the movie and the fandom. Merry Christmas and thank you.

‘Gethin...’ 

Jeff’s light voice was sweetly wheedling, and he could bat his eyelashes very prettily when he chose. That he chose to do so now, in the week before Christmas when the shop was busy and the clientele torn between festive over-exuberance and anti-establishment protest against crass materialism was alarming, annoying, and impossible to ignore.

Blond and pale, Jeff was as pretty a boy as you would find for miles around. Not Gethin’s type, but then, very few were, really. At least, not for more than an hour or two, a night at most.

‘Bit busy here, Jeff, got some books to shelve. If you want tea, get the kettle on.’

‘Mine’s milk, two sugars,’ a new voice said. It was cultured, refined, lilting at the edges. ‘And if there are biscuits, I could just go a custard cream...’

Gethin sighed and pushed away from the bookshelves.

‘It’s not a bloody café, it’s a bookshop,’ he muttered.

‘Yes, Gethin, but this is my friend, Jonathan...’ Jeff said, stressing the word ‘friend’ in such a way that made him turn and stare at the newcomer.

It was the semi-beatific smile he noticed first, then the warmth in the brown eyes, a sense of having seen more than most. Not a beautiful face, but an appealing one, mobile and friendly, lined and lively. Shaggy hair that would curl if it was shorter, a sort of tawny honey shade. Daft clothes, beret and raincoat, a tired canvas rucksack over his shoulder and in his arms a battered cardboard box which he held against his body with elegant, long-fingered hands.

Duw, what was it about their hands, why did he always notice that...?

‘Gethin...’ Jeff tried again, actually going so far as to come and pat Gethin’s arm, smiling all the while. ‘Not quite that sort of friend, he isn’t... doesn’t seem to... cup of tea, yes?’

‘All right, then, yes.’

‘Show me again where the teabags are?’

Honestly...!

But once they were in the back room, Jeff put the kettle on and under the noise of its boiling whispered out the story to Gethin. Friend of a friend, had been on the sofa, not any more, not part of the scene, not disapproving, but a bit shocked, maybe...

‘Then why’s he hanging around it?’

Jeff shrugged. ‘Work, or something. Maybe shocked is the wrong word, because he tries to understand, always asking questions... Anyway, there’s only so many questions you can answer before it gets awkward, so now he’s running out of sofas, and as I happen to know...’

‘No.’

‘...that you have a spare room...’

‘Still no.’

‘...but it’s Christmas, Gethin...’

Gethin looked out through the partially open door. The man was looking at the titles on the shelves, taking a step back, twisting his head the better to see, raising his eyebrows...

‘It’s not like he’s an up-the-duff homeless girl on the verge of sprogging, there’s still be no room at the inn, Jeff. I’m not a charity...’

Jeff pouted, looking adorable, distracting, far too young...

‘All right, get that tea brewing, let me check he’s not some kind of lunatic... and no promises...’

*

There was a customer waiting, and Gethin was delayed a moment or two serving. When he looked up, there was a boy, a very young boy, perhaps seventeen at a push, and he was talking earnestly to Jeff’s homeless person.

‘Really?’ Jeff’s friend was asking. ‘They would do that? They would say that to you? But they’re your parents, can’t they see it isn’t about them, that it isn’t like choosing what pair of shoes to put on today...?’

Gethin bit back a sigh and headed over. Could be a sting, send in a youngster, obviously not legal yet, see how the gay bookshop’s gay bookshop owner deals with the situation...

The man – Jonathan – saw Gethin approaching and raised his eyebrows.

‘I say,’ he began. ‘This young fellow’s in a bit of a pickle... parents... is it something you can help with...? You see,’ he said to the lad, lowering his voice. ‘I’m not actually gay. Just homeless.’

The lad took a step away, and Gethin took charge.

‘He’s just browsing,’ Gethin said. ‘Right, over here, books on coming out to your parents... guess that horse has already bolted? Yeah, never easy, time helps, but you need support now... got a few books on this shelf on coping... and if you see the table over there, all kinds of leaflets about support groups, if you need somewhere to stay – you’re under twenty one, right?’

The youngster nodded.

‘Okay...’ Gethin selected several leaflets. ‘Over eighteen...? No? Then you’ll want these... and if you tell your parents it’s a big bad world out there and if they throw you out before you’re eighteen they put you at all kinds of risks whether you’re gay or straight... Want any of the books, do you?’

The boy mumbled thanks, shaking his head and accepting the leaflets.

‘That’s okay. Good luck,’ Gethin said, as the bell jangled behind the lad as he left.

‘Does that happen a lot?’ the man said.

‘Does what happen? They leave without buying anything?’ Gethin shrugged. ‘Sometimes. When it’s someone in trouble, I don’t mind so much...’

‘No, the... that their families just...’

Gethin nodded slowly. ‘Too often. You really don’t know anything, do you?’

‘Well, I know more than I did a week ago... goodness, such a lot to learn, isn’t there?’

There was something disarming about the honesty of the man, the genuine interest he had shown for the youngster’s situation that Gethin found refreshing.

‘Suppose there is, when you put it like that.’ Gethin extended his hand. ‘Jonathan, isn’t it? Gethin, Gethin Roberts.’

‘Yes, that’s me. Blake, though, that’s what they usually call me.’ 

The handshake was like the man, warm and friendly and the thought of those fine, fine hands...

But not gay, Jeff had said. And, well... if he were, why all the questions?

‘Come through, have some tea.’ Gethin indicated the box which had been balanced on one hip during the handshake and then carefully repositioned once more. 

‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

‘Oh, just stuff. Mementoes, really.’

In the back room, Jeff had made tea and found the biscuits (intended for the Lesbians Aloud Choral Singers rehearsals tomorrow night, but never mind, enough time to replace them, Connie would never know...) and was looking prettily proud of himself, sitting with one elbow on the table, his curled hand supporting his chin... sooner that one found someone, the better...

‘Have a seat, Blake, if you want to put your stuff down somewhere...’

‘Thank you, oh, look! A piano... how lovely...’

‘Depends who’s playing it,’ Gethin said, but couldn’t help smiling at Blake’s enthusiasm.

Jeff drained his mug and conscientiously put it in the sink.

‘Well, now that’s all settled, I’ll just be running along...’

‘Jeff?’ Gethin queried, and

‘Hang on!’ Blake said. ‘What about... what you said?’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Jeff said from the doorway. ‘Oh, and Gethin? Shop!’

*

It was some time before Gethin had chance to do more than keep a vague eye on Blake; a sudden rush of customers, not all just wanting to pay and go, several wanting leaflets, advice, acknowledgement. He was peripherally aware, though, that Blake had followed him through and was talking to everyone he could, engaging in an open, friendly way, expressing interest. 

By closing time, when Gethin finally locked up and turned the ‘open’ sign around, he was glad to retreat to the back room and the dregs of his now-cold cup of tea.

‘Soya milk,’ Blake said, coming to join him.

‘What?’

‘Soya milk. When your tea goes cold, it doesn’t get that weird film on top with soya milk. And it doesn’t change the taste.’ He pondered for a minute. ‘Mind you, all that means is it tastes equally foul hot or cold.’

‘Are you still here?’

Well, obviously. Blake shrugged and smiled.

‘Look at this, three of your customers gave me their phone numbers. Nice chaps. Friendly.’

‘Not surprised, seeing someone like you in a place like this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Honestly? You’ve got to realise you’re good looking...’ Gorgeous, really, and not just handsome, but with so much of interest in that face. And the hands, of course... ‘And they probably thought, since this is a gay bookshop, that you’re on the market.’

‘Why would they think that means I’m gay?’

‘Really? Well, apart from the beret, and the brooch, and the fact that you were chatting to them in, as I said, a gay bookshop, there is the earring...’

‘Oh, that? I saw someone else wearing one, I thought it looked nice...’

‘It does, it does look nice, it...’ Gethin broke off and busied himself with the kettle. Not just beautiful hands, this one, impossible not to warm to the man... ‘More tea? Milk, two sugars, was it?’

‘Lovely, thank you.’

Gethin brewed up, trying not to take it as significant that he’d remembered how Blake liked his tea.

‘So, running out of sofas, Jeff said?’

‘Yes, bit odd, really, perfectly nice people, tried to do my bit, washing up, folding up the bedding in the morning, keeping my eyes shut when they get home in the early hours... don’t know what happened last time, anything you want, just ask, they said, so I asked, and it seemed to upset them...’

Gethin sighed. Did he want to know what exactly had sparked it off, or was he happier not knowing?’

‘...all I wanted was some information, really, and when I saw they had a pet gerbil, I just thought it would be okay to ask if it was true and did the gerbil mind?’

Oh, Duw...!

‘Oh, Christ, you didn’t...?’

‘Well, I...’ Blake shrugged. ‘Apparently they were looking after it for a niece for the weekend. But is it true?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ Gethin said cautiously. ‘Not something I would consider, anyway. It’s certainly not in any of the literature I keep here...’

‘Good. Not that I’m entitled to an opinion, I suppose...’

‘Everyone’s entitled to an opinion. Just need to be careful of offending, as you would anywhere. So that’s why you’re homeless?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose... still. Nice cup of tea makes up for a lot.’

‘Couldn’t you, I don’t know, a hostel, a hotel, something...? Jeff said you’re working, got a job, right?’

‘It’s more of a volunteer position, really... still, the Lord will provide, as they say... Well, so far, anyway...’

‘So, what do you do, exactly?’

‘Hm? Oh, I help people. I love it, I really do, that collection of mine...’ Blake nodded at the battered cardboard box on top of the piano. ‘It’s full of things from people I helped out one way or another. Not just this job, of course... but all of them.’ Blake sighed. ‘I must admit, it isn’t what I expected when they told me they needed someone to talk to gay people... I thought it’d perfect...’

He took a mouthful of tea and waved his mug towards Gethin.

‘That is, no offence, I thought they meant joyful and happy and carefree people, and, well, just the thing, coming up to Christmas... thought I’d be, you know, organising lifts home from parties, making sure there’s enough beer and stuff...’

Gethin shook his head, incredulous, and not nearly as offended as he thought he should probably have been.

‘Christ, where have you been? Used to mean that, but not any more. Not these days. Not for ages.’

‘Ah. Yes, sort of gathered that. Still, doesn’t mean I can’t do my job. Just not sure what I need to know to do it well, so I’m trying to find out, but sometimes... well, sometimes I ask about gerbils and things and...’

‘Look, as far as it goes, most people will be happy to answer your questions – I saw you today, in the shop, you sound genuine, and it is good when someone takes an interest... but not in public, perhaps, and just... not about their sex lives. I mean, you wouldn’t, for instance, ask your mum about hers, would you?’

‘Well, it’s not really an issue, but... I suppose not... although... there’s a shop full of books on the topic back there... can I browse?’

‘In the flat, you can look at the books I’ve got there. Not that I mind, people do browse... there’s too much in the shop, confuse you.’

‘Okay, I... Oh, does this mean I can come up to your flat? I can stay?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. For tonight, see what we can get sorted out for you tomorrow. Besides, never could resist a hard luck story...’ Especially not from someone with such promising hands... ‘Come on, then.’

‘Really? My... thank you, Mr Roberts, thank you...’

‘Bring your stuff. And call me Gethin.’


	2. Gold. Frankincense and Myrrh, After a Fashion...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake talks a little more about his collection of mementoes...

‘Make yourself comfortable, I’ve got a few things to move out of the spare room.’ Gethin waved towards the sofa. ‘Oh, and here. If you want to start reading...’

He rummaged for a couple of magazines from a stack on the coffee table, selecting the most straight-friendly ones he could think of.

Blake smiled his beatific smile and nodded, sitting down with the precious box still on his lap.

What exactly was in it that was so precious? Gethin wondered as he hauled boxes of overflow stock out of the way of the bed and found the spare bedding in the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. Mementoes, Blake had said, but of what? And what had the man kept hold of, in spite of being homeless?

He made the bed quickly, sheets and blankets, fresh pillowcase on the ratty pillow... well, better than nothing, he supposed.

‘Right, that’s all fixed up, if you want to bring your things.’ It seemed a kinder word than ‘stuff’, somehow. ‘You okay?’

Blake nodded. He hadn’t moved, not even to set down the box, or to pick up a magazine to glance through. There was something about him, though, that made Gethin wonder... well, how many sofas had he been through in the last week? Perhaps that was it, worried about being out on his ear in the morning.

‘Come on, then. Look, it’s okay, running the shop, I get asked all sorts of things, I don’t take offence easily, me. Can’t afford to. And I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, so there isn’t anyone else to worry about, either. So don’t worry, I’m not about to throw you out onto the streets...’

‘Well, you did say one night, and... I was maybe concerned about tomorrow...’

‘Don’t, don’t ever worry about tomorrow. Today’s usually challenging enough, isn’t it?’

‘Generally, yes... so... it’s all right, then? If I stay?’

Gethin looked at the tired, lined face that still somehow managed to look beautiful and timeless and realised he probably wouldn’t be able to refuse this man anything; it would be too much like kicking a puppy...

‘Yes, it’s all right. Just... no bringing any girls home, do you hear?’ He grinned to show it was a joke. ‘I’ve got my reputation to consider. Now, come and have a look at your room.’

There wasn’t much to show, not really. The wardrobe, a chest of drawers, one drawer full of rubbish, the other empty, bed, bedside cabinet with lamp on, pile of stock in the corner.

‘Don’t worry about that, I can shift it down to the back room tomorrow if it’s in your way.’

‘No, it’s fine, it’s very kind of you...’

There was something in Blake’s tone that worried Gethin somewhat; he sounded too emotional.

‘Right, then, Blake. Get yourself settled, unpack, sort out your things and then I’ll make you some more tea, if you like. And something hot to eat, beans on toast okay? Come down when you’re ready.’

It wasn’t long before Gethin heard footsteps on the stairs, nor was he surprised; Blake travelled light, it seemed. He’d lost the beret and the overcoat, but still clutched the box against his chest. Light blue shirt that could have been a pyjama jacket, perhaps, from the state of it, but never mind.

‘You can put your things down on the coffee table, if you like,’ Gethin said. ‘Tea’s made, just doing toast now.’

‘Oh, good,’ Blake brightened. ‘I like toast.’

After the simple meal – and yes, Blake had liked toast, looking wistfully at the toaster as if more would magically appear until Gethin told him to help himself, and started off a couple more slices of bread for him, they sat on the sofa while Gethin watched part of the news programme and Blake flicked through one of the magazines.

‘I say,’ he began presently, after having stared at the same page for quite some time. ‘I say, Gethin?’

‘Yes, Blake?’

‘This article, this... this illness... it sounds awful...’

‘It is pretty awful, yes. New, you see. Nobody knows much about it so there’s a lot of rubbish out there about how you can catch it, and we’re getting the blame when...’ He broke off, hearing the bitterness in his voice. ‘Look, if you’re going to be working with the gay community, you’ll hear a lot about it sooner or later. I’ve got leaflets downstairs, there’s a booklet... everything you’ll need to know before you start asking those questions of yours. People are dying, too young, too soon, and everywhere you look it’s like there used to be a person there and now...’

‘Bound to be a touchy subject. You’ve a lot to put up with, haven’t you? Not you personally, although, maybe, I don’t know, but... all this... and then... everything...’

All this and then everything. Yes, it just about summed it up.

Gethin nodded.

‘I’m okay, clean bill of health. Just need to keep it that way, now. Anyway. How long have you been in this job?’

‘Oh, I’m really new... the way it works, they hand out assignments, I take up the one given me. I’m still waiting for the first official one... it might be easier, now I have a proper base, so they know how to get hold of me. And, while I think... it can be odd hours... well, people need help all times of the day and night, don’t they? So I don’t want to be a nuisance, but...’

‘Do you want the spare key?’

‘That’s very kind, but no, no, it’s fine... if I can leave the bedroom window open...’

‘What? It’s three bloody storeys up, you’ll break your neck running up and down the fire escape... no, you can have the key, it’s fine.’

‘Thank you,’ Blake said, his voice meek.

‘So... tell me about you?’

‘Not a lot to tell, really... I move around a lot, I help people for a living... I get swapped around a bit from one area to another, never quite settled yet... but I like it.’

And that was it? Where was he from, how old, what music did he like, books? Married or single, family...?

But every question he framed sounded like the preamble to a chat-up line. And he knew Blake wasn’t interested...

‘And the box? Your things?’

‘Ah.’ Blake reached for the box which he had, reluctantly, set down on the coffee table. ‘Now, this is much more interesting than talking about me... Let’s see... take this, for instance.’

He folded back the tattered cardboard wings of the box and took out a circle of slightly wrinkled foil, gold on one side, silver on the other, an impression of a profile just visible.

‘This wrapped up one of those chocolate coins you get at Christmas. Little girl gave it to me after I found a lost doll for her. Scary thing it was, horrid eyes that followed you everywhere, and the blink had broken so it really was terrifying...’ Blake shuddered. ‘But it was important to her. Left it on the bus, and I found it for her. So she gave me one of her sweeties to thank me... horrible chocolate, why do they never make these things from the good stuff?’

‘So you kept the wrapper?’

‘Well, yes. Reminds me, you see, that what one person finds horrifying, another person will love, no matter what. Odd things, children, I hope you don’t have any here?’

Gethin laughed. 

‘In the flat, never. Rarely in the shop, it being the sort of place it is, not many parents want to bring their kiddies in. Daft, really, but then, it’s probably better for the books. What else you got in there?’

‘Help yourself,’ Blake said, and Gethin inserted his hand into the box and took out the first object to hand, a small ceramic pot, almost empty, to judge from the weight.

‘Ah, yes. That was left in Toby’s house afterwards. He said I could take it.’

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, just hand cream.’

‘Hand cream?’

‘Toby had eczema. This was the only thing that worked for him, I got the recipe from an old friend and had it made up for him, he used it for years... when he went into the care home, I sent him off with three full tubs, enough to last him. Well, he was 92 and not in the best of health...’

‘Right, I see...’

‘He was a nice old fellow, Toby. Thanks, thanks for reminding me about him. Go on, pick another.’

Gethin dipped into the box, giving a startled laugh as he removed something slender and fragile.

‘Half a joss stick?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s an interesting one... invited to one of these commune places to discuss the meaning of everything... you know the sort of stuff... told them it was a lot of tosh, well... I have insider information... was hounded out, but thing is, they were meant to be a peaceful sect and the newspaper pictures of their boss-man with his hands round my throat didn’t do them any favours and at least three youngsters ended up reunited with their mums and dads after it... ‘

‘And the joss stick?’

‘Ah. I’d stuck it behind my ear, for later. As you do.’

‘As you do... so, everything is a story, then? Someone you met along the way?’

Blake nodded and pushed at the three objects.

‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘Gold, frankincense and myrrh, but not quite as you’d imagine, I suppose...’

‘Myrrh?’

‘One of the components of Toby’s hand cream. Sort of appropriate for Christmas, don’t you think?’


	3. 'Not Quite Like Other Men...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin finds out more about his new lodger...

Next day being Saturday, Gethin was up early to open the shop and prep everything ready for what he expected would be one of the busiest days of the retail calendar; the last Saturday before Christmas.

Blake not being up, Gethin left tea in the pot and the spare key on the coffee table with a note saying to help himself to toast and come down to the shop if he needed anything.

It was ten minutes before opening time when he heard Blake’s voice calling out ‘I say...’ from the back room.

‘Come through, Blake,’ he called.

‘Thank you for the tea, and the toast,’ Blake said. ‘And the key; I’ll be staying close to home, if that’s all right today; now I have a place to stay, there may well be a delivery for me soon, things I need while I’m here...’

‘Oh, right... I thought all you had was what you brought with you...’

‘Well, it was... this is from the boss, starter pack, sort of thing. And you said last night, some reading up I needed to do about that illness...’

‘Yes...’ Gethin crossed to the leaflet table, selected a couple, pulled a thicker pamphlet from a drawer. ‘Any questions, I’ll be glad to answer, but... not in the shop. Not about this; too many people who might know someone or...’

‘Yes, yes... no, I understand. Um...’ Blake wafted the leaflets. ‘Reading. Okay, then.’

Blake made no move to return to the flat, just stood there with the leaflets in his hands.

‘Are you okay?’ Gethin asked.

‘It feels a bit empty upstairs. I’m used to being around people, I think. Sorry.’

‘If you want to sit in the back room, it’s okay. You won’t feel so isolated there, perhaps.’

‘Thank you! That would be perfect. And I can make you some tea, when you want some.’

‘Sounds good, around half ten would be perfect. Time to open the shop now.’

It was actually a few minutes after time, but there was nobody waiting, so no problem. Gethin turned the sign round, shot the bolts, opened the door to let the air in and closed it again to keep the draughts out. The bell jangled happily both times.

He turned back to find Blake still standing with a vaguely hopeful expression on his face.

‘Half ten, for tea?’ he queried. ‘Not now?’

‘Get yourself one, if you like,’ Gethin said. ‘I won’t, not yet, thanks.’

The bell jangled again, providing him with a legitimate excuse to turn away, even though, he realised, he didn’t really want to.

Usually the first half hour or so was slow, people still getting into London from the outskirts, rush hour traffic, problems, and even on a Saturday there was usually a gentle easing-in period. 

But not today.

Within a few minutes of opening, there were hordes of customers, as if they’d arrived on the same bus, all heading for his shop. Which was lovely, but his Saturday Help hadn’t turned up to help today, so he was hard pushed for a while. In the middle of advising one customer and serving another, he was hailed by a stranger from the doorway, a young fellow with mad ginger hair and a large trunk.

‘Excuse me... I’m looking for Blake...’

Gethin paused in serving, lifted his head.

‘Who’s asking?

‘Roscoe. He’s expecting me, I hope.’

‘Back room, then. Go on through.’

With many apologies and much manoeuvring, Roscoe dragged the trunk through the shop. He had almost reached the door to the back room when Blake emerged.

‘Roscoe, is that all for me?’

‘Yes, and it comes with instructions... give me a hand, then...’

The shop growing suddenly less busy in one of the strange ebbs and flows of retail, Gethin could hear the two talking in the back room, even though he tried not to.

‘...don’t you go messing this one up, Blake!’

‘I didn’t mess up the last one, Roscoe...’

‘No, you were just a basket case for weeks after...’

‘Well, he was a nice old chap. I missed him. I like old people. I’m good with them. I like children, too, there aren’t going to be many children in this job, I can tell...’

‘Well, look at last time they let you on the fostering rota; you got arrested...’

‘Not my fault; I was just making sure Janey was okay...’

‘But loitering around her school... ? It’s no wonder they called the police...’

‘Anyway, no children this time, no old people, I don’t think.’

‘You still need to be careful. You get too involved.’

‘We’re meant to get involved.’

‘Yes, you take on too much, and get carried away, and make mistakes, and if you muck this up, you’ll be doing deliveries, like me. And this one’s not like the other jobs, it’s longer-term... it’s... you might get... corrupted...’

‘Oh, don’t be stupid! Go and get yourself some information, talking rubbish like that!’

‘But it’s... you know.’

‘No, I don’t know. It’s people, helping people, that’s what I know, Roscoe. What I do, what we’re meant to do.’

‘What you can never quite manage, you mean. Now, you could be working this assignment for months, not weeks, so be careful...’

‘Look, everyone I’ve met so far has been lovely.’

‘Yes. Well, I’m off. And remember; minimise contact, minimise the risk of contamination...’

‘Oh, don’t be silly! You don’t catch being human, you daft thing!’

‘Well, this time, follow your instructions!’

‘But I always do, Roscoe. It’s just they never seem to write all of them down.’

Customers, to Gethin’s relief, since it made it look as if he hadn’t overheard the conversation and could legitimately do no more than nod as Roscoe left. Not quite sure he’d like the fellow’s tone, sounded as if he’d been telling Blake off, and from what little he knew of Blake, it hadn’t seemed fair. All those bits and pieces, reminders of the times he’d helped someone... and what had that been about getting corrupted...?

Must admit, though, he’d liked Blake’s answer. And at least it showed he really wasn’t bigoted.

Half ten, a little bit of a lull in trade, and a mug of tea appearing on the counter next to the till.

‘Thank you, Blake. You got your delivery okay, then?’

‘Yes, yes... look, about Roscoe, he’s young, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about... You must have heard.’

‘I did, I heard you like working with children, old people, any people.’

‘And that stuff about contamination... he didn’t mean this illness stuff, he’s not that... he doesn’t even know. He just meant... well.’

‘It doesn’t matter, as long as he doesn’t come in here upsetting the customers...’ Gethin shrugged. ‘Upsetting you.’

‘Really?’ Blake lifted his eyes to Gethin’s face, lifting his lips in a smile that broke Gethin’s heart and took his breath away. ‘That’s so kind of you...’

Gethin shrugged.

‘You seem to have had a rough time of it, that’s all. Are you going to need help getting your luggage up the stairs?’

‘No, it’s all right, I can manage. Can I...? Could I use the wardrobe and the drawers in the room?’

‘Of course. Your room, your things, use what’s there.’

 

An hour later the Saturday Help arrived, apologising and explaining.

‘Never mind, you can cover my lunch for me in the week, okay? And now; I’ll be in the flat if you get stuck.’

Blake wasn’t in the living room or kitchen and sounds from upstairs suggested he was busy unpacking. Gethin made tea and sandwiches, found biscuits, carried them up on a tray and knocked on the half-open guest room door.

‘There’s lunch for you.’

‘Oh, lovely, how kind! Do you want to join me?’

Gethin had been brought his own drink up on the tray, hoping to be asked, and nodded, sitting on the chair he’d relegated to guests’ use for being too rickety for the kitchen. It swayed as he sat, but bore him up bravely.

‘Settling in, then?’

Blake nodded, waving in the direction of the open wardrobe and the trunk nearby. ‘Yes, bit of a capsule wardrobe going on, two of everything, except socks, there’s four of those...’

‘Makes sense.’

‘Have you got a washing machine?’

‘No, laundrette down the road. Or wash things through by hand. No space, not really.’ He drained his mug. ‘Well, my lunch break now. If you want more tea, give us a shout.’

But there was no shout from upstairs as Gethin ate his own sandwiches, and just an answering ‘okay’ when he called up that he was going back to the shop.

 

At the end of the day he went back up to find Blake sitting in the living room reading a big, heavy book which he set down when Gethin entered.

‘Instructions, rule book, sort of thing,’ Blake explained. ‘I have a job this evening, I have to go out to one of the local clubs and... well, it doesn’t matter what, meant to be confidential, but I know I can trust you, just if there are other people involved...’

‘It’s okay. Take your key with you, it’ll be fine. I’m going out myself later, as a matter of fact.’

‘Oh, lovely! I hope you have a nice time. What do you want to do about dinner, shall I cook or...?’

‘No, it’s okay, I’ll get something while I’m out. There’s lots of places to eat out round here, or if you want to make something for yourself...’

‘Thanks, I might do that. One of my old dears, I was with her for a couple of months, she showed me how to cook... Got any aubergines?’

‘Um... no. Sorry. There’s a little Spar down the road, round the corner, but I don’t think they do any veg more exotic than mushrooms...’

‘Oh, I might pop out for a recce, then. I’ve got my key.’

*

Whatever it was that Blake finally ended up cooking smelled amazing, Gethin realised, as the aromas drifted upstairs while he was washing and changing ready to go out.

‘Aubergine curry,’ Blake told him from where he was installed at the kitchen table, a full plate in front of him. ‘Without the aubergines, sadly. But I used hard boiled eggs instead, it works rather well... there’s lots left, if you’d like some, it will just be wasted otherwise...?’

And, even though he wasn’t gay, couldn’t possibly know how Gethin would react, Blake batted his eyelashes and nodded towards the cooker, where two pans sat steaming beneath their lids.

‘Well, it’d be rude not to, then. Thanks.’

It truly was delicious, and gave Gethin an excuse to sit at the table with Blake and admire those wonderful (and now revealed to be clever) hands... it made for a wonderful start to the evening...

Blake was first to get up from the table, soak his plate, head towards the door.

‘Well, time I wasn’t here. Have a lovely evening, Gethin.’

‘You too, Blake. Hope the job goes well.’

And Gethin did, he did have a lovely evening. He spent an hour watching Jeff flirting determinedly with an almost-good-looking bloke with a blonde moustache that seemed like a waste of effort, and casting occasional glances Gethin’s way, but the youngster didn’t have the same dangerous appeal, somehow, that he had the day before. That could only be a good thing; Gethin didn’t mind younger guys, as long as they were old enough, but Jeff was something close to being a friend and it didn’t sit well with him to think of him as a fling. Because that was all it could be with Jeff, a fling; he was nice, pretty, sweet, and funny, but not what Gethin was looking for long term. Not that he was looking for anything long term, not at the moment.

But the beer was okay, and the music loud, and there were enough people to lose himself in. Had a chance of getting off with a nice-looking lad from Streatham, but after a messy kiss outside the cloakrooms that made him feel he was being licked by an over-enthusiastic spaniel, he made an excuse and took the opportunity to leave. Getting late anyway, head buzzing from music and alcohol, taxi home and wash his face, clean his teeth, have a cup of tea. Tomorrow, he’d laugh about it, but tonight, he felt just a bit besmirched.

 

By 2 am, Blake hadn’t come home, so Gethin sorted the washing up and went to bed.

He was just settling when there was the far sound of a key in the lock downstairs. The door opening, closing, the bolts, the locks... the stairs up, the second key and a strange rustling sound as Blake let himself in to the hall.

Gethin began to relax as he heard the door close again, started up as a crash followed, swearing after it, another crash, more swearing and footsteps on the stairs up to the bedrooms, again the rustling.

Gethin sighed, put on the bedside lamp, found pyjama bottoms to put on, intending to investigate.

‘Blake?’ he called out. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Sorry... sorry about that!’ Blake replied. ‘Clumsy me, oops. I don’t think anything’s broken.’

‘One too many? I’ll come and give you hand.’

‘No, don’t bother, it’s fine, yes, that’s it, one too many of... well. Quick shower and then bed for me, sorry to disturb you.’

Blake’s footsteps reached the landing and there was another crash and a clatter, an odd sort of scraping sound now along with the rustling.

‘What’s going on?’

Gethin got to the landing just in time to see the door to the guest room closing. He flicked on the light and everything swayed... no, not everything, the lampshade and its bulb were swinging, presumably knocked by Blake... but the man, while tall, wasn’t that tall, surely? Nor had he sounded drunk...

‘Blake?’ He tapped on the door. ‘Jonathan? Are you okay? It’s just that it’s late, and I’m worried about you...’

‘Yes, yes, all fine here, I... sorry about all this, I... I’ll sort out any damages...’

‘Bugger the damages, what about you? Look, you might as well open the door, I’m just going to stand here until I know you’re all right, and if you were serious about wanting a shower, you’ll just have to get past me first...’

Gethin thought he heard a sigh, and the door cracked open to reveal a very narrow strip of Blake’s face and body. He appeared to be serious about the shower, though, as he was bare chested, revealing surprisingly powerful muscles that made Gethin’s breath catch in his throat. But more than that, Blake’s face was turned away to the side, as if he was hiding something. Behind him a large, unfamiliar shape seemed to rise up.

‘I really am sorry...’

‘Stop being sorry, just... what do you need? Not hurt, are you? What are you hiding in there?’

‘I... might have got a little bump. It’s nothing serious, I just... bit muddy, need a shower and... bit shy, actually, so if you don’t mind...?’

Shy? Stood there shirtless?

‘Let’s see this bump, then? I’m going to have a quick look, make sure you’re okay, and then I’ll leave you to it and you can get your shower, okay?’

Blake seemed to nod, and opened the door a little more, turning his face so that Gethin could see him properly. There was a trickle of dried blood which had escaped from above his eyebrow, and in the thin light of the landing bulb Gethin could see a bruise forming already on the cheekbone.

‘Bloody hell, Blake, you’re bleeding!’ 

Unthinking, he reached out to turn Blake’s chin, checking the full extent of the damage. Not expecting the contact, Blake stepped back, inadvertently widening the door and seeming to invite Gethin in. He reached automatically for the light switch, not noticing anything except the injury to his face.

‘A little bump? You need to get that looked at...’

‘You’re looking at it.’

Gethin was looking at something else now, too, as he saw the large shape he’d not recognised earlier and realised what it was.

A wing.

Or, rather, a pair of wings.

A pair of light brown or beige or peach coloured wings with bands of bright blue, white, black on them.

A huge pair of bloody massive bird wings stuck onto Blake’s back somehow.

What the...

‘...fuck? Wings? Are they wings, actual bloody fancy dress wings?’

‘No,’ Blake sounded tired, suddenly, exhausted, defeated. ‘They’re wings, actual bloody real wings. I... I’m not quite like other men...’

‘You’re telling me. And that’s usually one of our lines...’

‘...I manifest as a jay,’ Blake went on. ‘I hit a telegraph pole; well, it was that or the lines and I thought, cutting people’s phones off, not good, and it’s meant to hurt less, and, besides, might have damaged the bone if I’d hit the wires...’

He slumped down on the edge of the bed, winced as one of the stupid, impossible bloody wings caught on the edge of the mattress. Unable to resist, mesmerised, Gethin walked round to stare and gawp and try to work out how, how could it possibly be...? 

The wings emerged from either side of Blake’s spine level with the underneath of his shoulder blades and were folded in much the same way that a bird’s would, but held behind his arms and one – on the same side as the injury to Blake’s face – didn’t seem to want to fold all the way.

‘Okay, wings. Why... no, let’s start with something easier... what happened? How were you hurt?’

‘I said, telegraph pole...’

‘But how’d you manage to collide with one? And... miss the wires, you said?’

‘Well, obviously, I was flying...’

‘Fl... flying?’

‘Wings, that’s what wings are for, flying... I’d had my assignment, needed to go up and report, as we do, and on the way down I hit turbulence, I think, it threw me off course, and then there was the telegraph pole... I hit it, and landed badly, and my wing won’t fold properly... It’s not broken, just a bit bruised, but I can’t furl, you see, not while it’s like this. And then, of course, I landed in some horrid mud and it’s clogging up my secondaries... the job went well, though, so that’s something.’

Gethin shook his head.

‘Wings, though...?’

Blake got to his feet and patted Gethin gently on the shoulder.

‘You know, Gethin, it’s very late, and you’ve been out, had a drink or two, perhaps it’s affecting your dreams so you think I’ve got wings... you’ll see, in the morning, no wings anywhere, but don’t worry about it. You just go back to bed and have a nice sleep and ...’

‘No, I’m awake, Blake, I know the difference between a drunken dream and reality, still, just about...’

Blake sighed and sagged.

‘Sorry, had to try. You’ll be wanting an explanation next.’

‘Yes, yes, I will.’ Gethin shrugged. ‘When you’ve had your shower will do. I’ll make us a cup of tea, shall I, for when you’ve done?’


	4. Angel From the Realms of Glory, Apparently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin learns more about Blake...

Down in the kitchen, Gethin was more than a little tempted to take Blake’s word for it that this was all just some weird dream or hallucination or something caused by too much to drink, to go back to bed and put his head under the covers and wait for morning to take it all away...

But it wasn’t, and he couldn’t, and it wouldn’t; he had touched Blake’s face and seen the dried blood, he had smelled the iron tang of it. And something else, too, a sweet, warm scent like... like Christmas, cinnamon and spices and under it a vague hint of chocolate...

Those wings, too, you couldn’t dream those, not in such glorious detail, the pinky-beige tones of the main wings, the bright sapphire barring made even more distinct by the black and white flight feathers around them...

You couldn’t, you couldn’t dream it, make it up. He’d seen where the wings emerged from Blake’s back, not stuck on or strapped in place, but actually were part of his body...

So what did that make him, then?

Gethin really didn’t want to consider the possibilities, not just yet.

He brewed tea and found the biscuits, listening for the gush of water down the drainpipe outside the window to tell him when Blake was done washing his wings.  
...washing his wings... was there any way that wasn’t going to sound weird?

‘I say...’ Blake’s voice drifted down the stairs, echoey and hollow as the sound bounced off the hard bathroom walls. ‘I forgot... they hold a lot of water, these things, and no towel...’

Oh, great! A gorgeous bloke with amazing eyes, beautiful hands and mythological wings naked in his bathroom without a towel.

If Blake hadn’t been straight it would have been perfect.

*

Blake was stood in the bath, his back towards the door, those ridiculous wings looking reduced and forlorn and tatty but at least giving him shelter from interested eyes. Gethin passed in all the clean towels he possessed, one at a time, watching the drip, drip of water from the bedraggled feathers.

‘...I was only intending to wash the muddy bits but this shower thing of yours is a bit wayward... and the water felt so warm...’ Blake fixed the first towel around his waist, draped a second over one shoulder and wing, a third over the other with a wince. ‘... that’s the thing, you see, if we’re hurt and we can’t furl, we feel the cold more...’

‘Yes, right... did you say ‘we’? You mean there’s other... people... with wings around?’

Blake nodded. ‘A few.’

‘A few?’

‘Well, okay, quite a few... I don’t suppose you have a hairdryer, do you?’

‘A...? Yes, in fact, I do.’ Blake’s hair was darker, wet, smoothed to his head in interesting shapes... ‘In the bedroom... um... but if you feel the cold, living room, p’raps?’

‘Very kind,’ Blake said with a closed-lipped smile that wavered on the edge of a grimace.

‘You in pain, at all?’

‘A bit. I banged my alula... that bit where the blue feathers start on the wing, there’s a little hook of bone under it, lucky it didn’t break, but it’s bruised and sore and it’s that bit I need to furl with...’

‘Sorry, when you say ‘furl’...? Must be sounding a bit dim, but...’

‘Get my wings away out of sight. If you look...’ Blake obligingly raised his uninjured wing up and twisted so that Gethin could see, lying beneath in the shadow of the feathers, a scar, or a slit about six inches long. ‘That opening, there? Wing casing. I hook the alula in – and it all folds away.’

‘All that? It’ll never all fit in there...’

‘Well, it does. They do. Except when I’m injured.’ Blake sighed. ‘Still, shouldn’t be more than a day or so, I hope... pity, I was looking forward to going out a bit more...’

‘Well, if it’s not for long... anyway, come down when you’re dressed... as much as you can... and I’ll bring the hairdryer.’

‘Thanks, thank you.’

Gethin found the hairdryer and its never-yet-needed diffuser and took it down to wait for Blake, putting the gas fire on to warm the room and turning one of the kitchen chairs round so Blake would be able to sit, facing its back, without his wings getting in the way... He wasn’t quite sure, still, exactly what was going on; perhaps it was best not to ask... and he was tired now, beyond tired, hyper with the shock of Blake’s wings, a muzzy ache starting behind his eyes...  


Blake came in, towels still draped across his wings. He’d found a pair of jeans, but was barefoot and bare chested, of course. A suggestion of extra muscle around his ribs was initially surprising, but rapidly became interesting...

‘Gethin? Are you all right?’ Blake asked, approaching with anxious eyes.

‘Oh, now you ask...!’

‘You’re in pain.’ One of those wonderful hands reached out to rest on Gethin’s hair for a brief moment, a gentle touch that was a benediction, soothing and taking with it the muzzy confusion of headache and hangover that had been threatening. ‘Better? Look, I really am sorry about all this, it’s not ... well, it’s not something you should ever have had to see... if it’s any consolation, I’m going to be in dreadful trouble about this...’

‘No,’ Gethin said. ‘No, it’s no consolation. Hairdryer’s plugged in for you over there. Thought you might want to sit down.’

‘That’s kind. And tea, too, thank you.’

The noise of the dryer made conversation difficult, which wasn’t a bad thing, as it gave Gethin a bit of time to get used to the sight of Blake, half-naked, working the hot air over his feathers, using one hand to stretch out the wing, the other to guide the dryer . It seemed to take a lot of effort, but slowly the feathers lost their sorry look and began to look sleek and shiny and really very nice...

Blake switched off the hairdryer.

‘Nice?’ he said. ‘You think my wings are nice?’

‘Sorry, what...?’ Surely Gethin hadn’t said that aloud.

‘Because, well, thank you. I get a bit of a ribbing for them, sometimes. Jay’s wings, like I said. Short and stubby, really; you watch a jay in flight, doesn’t half make hard work of it, compared to some. Not a big span, really – they get very sniffy about their spans, too, anything less than ten foot and they sneer... look, there’s I bit I can’t reach, would you be a sweetheart and just... right between my shoulders...?’

‘Okay.’ 

Gethin went over and took charge of the hairdryer, switched it on, glad of the noise as he wafted it over the damp plumage, watching the colour of the feathers change as they dried. It didn’t seem to take any time at all, now he was involved, in fact he would have liked to stay there longer, there was something mesmerising about the patterns of air, the drift of warmth, the soft, spiced fragrance...

But he couldn’t keep on drying already dry feathers.

Knowing that to switch off the noise would mean the start of explanations, still, he would have liked to carry on for a while, not asking, not knowing, not having to deal with whatever it was he was going to have to deal with...

He switched off the machine.

‘Better?’

‘Ah, thank you, that feels lovely... well, I expect you want an explanation...?’

‘Dunno. Is there one?’

‘Well, yes... not an easy one, though, maybe... but you’ve been so kind, so good, I want to try... I feel I owe it to you, and... well.’ Blake shrugged, the wings rustling gently as he did. ‘Look, would you mind, I feel ... it’s a lot to ask, but if I’m going to talk to you about all this, would you sit with me and... and hold my hand a bit? Just friendly contact?’

‘If it will help... come over here, can you sit on the sofa without hurting them? How’s your face now?’

‘Oh, I’ll be fine... ‘ Jonathan made his way to the settee, sitting sideways so his wings draped over the arm. ‘We really do heal quickly, I promise, and it hardly hurts at all... well, the alula’s taking my mind of my face, really... It’ll be better tomorrow. Would you mind...?’

Unable to believe that this was happening, Gethin took the hand Blake extended towards him, feeling the cool touch of Blake’s fingers curling around his own.

‘Thank you, Gethin; oh, that feels so warm, it’s really comforting and... kind, I’ve said before but, yes. Of course, I’m not supposed to tell you any of this, I’m not supposed to show anyone my wings, or... but I did try, didn’t I?’

‘You did, you tried really hard.’

‘Only, if you’d let me leave the bedroom window open, I would have come in that way and...’

‘And how would you have got all that wing through the window?’

‘Well, it’s mostly feather, you know. Just a bit of bone and tendon really. Some muscle, not a lot. I... have you worked it out, do you know what I am yet?’

‘Some sort of winged social worker?’

Blake smiled, shaking his head.

‘I’m an angel. As in, ‘...from the realms of glory...’ and other songs. You know.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean. Winging your flight over all the earth, apparently, except when telegraph poles get in the way... An... Really?’

‘Well, what else could I be? 

‘I saw this film once, ‘Flash Gordon’, there were hawkmen...’ Gethin trailed off. ‘Anyway, what’s with the wings? Proper angels don’t have wings like that.’

‘Yes, that’s what the others say...’

‘...if they ever do have wings...’

‘...just because I manifest as a jay and not something pure like a swan, or elegant like a falcon, or have two pairs or three, just because I’ve one of the shortest spans of them all, they say I’m not a proper angel and... and I have to work twice as hard to be half as good and I still get things wrong and it’s true what Roscoe said, if I’m not careful I’ll end up on deliveries, bringing other angels what they need so they can help people but it’s what we’re meant to do... and I am a proper angel, I am, I just...’

Through it all Blake had kept hold of Gethin’s hand, increasing the pressure until it felt like he was hanging on, as if the contact was a lifeline.

‘Hey,’ Gethin said, folding his other hand around their joined fingers. ‘I didn’t mean you weren’t a proper one compared to the other angels, I just meant... I thought angels generally, it’s what people think you’re like, isn’t it, not what you are?’

‘Not... not originally, no. But one day humans imagined us with wings, and so here we are...’

‘I don’t see what’s wrong with being a jay. Clever birds, and beautiful. Striking, really. An eye for the shiny. Collect things, they say.’

Blake smiled at this.

‘I suppose that’s true, I do collect things...’

‘Seems wrong to say, how long have you been an angel, but...?’

‘Ha! Yes, well, all my life, of course. Except I’m not really alive, not in the same way you are; we aren’t born, we’re just created, as and when we’re needed... and we don’t die, either. We’re not immortal, we’re just... created eternal...’

‘So, tell me, then? What’s it like, being an angel?’

‘Oh, it’s... when I’m working, doing what I was meant to do, it’s the best thing in the world...’

‘Go on, then?’

‘Well... I shouldn’t say, I’m going to be in such trouble... except if I already am, then I might as well talk about it, I really want to, I’ve always felt it was wrong to lie to you humans about who we are and...’

And slowly at first, with a few pauses, and asides about the other angels and their attitudes, Blake began to talk, naming people he’d worked with, helped, speaking with real, true joy about his work and Gethin kept hold of his hand all the time, listening with wonder and trying to remind himself that it would never, ever work out between them because Blake was straight and, as if that wasn’t enough, he wasn’t human, he was an angel, and weren’t angels asexual anyway...?

The night drew on and Blake talked about existing above everything in an energy stream the circled the world, just waiting for a human person to ask for help, to drop down through the skies and find wings, to finally reach the world beneath and take proper, human shape...

‘So you see, once we’re here, the metaphysical side of our nature is hidden within the physical; the wings furl away, and we look just like you, except for the openings where the wings go. We can walk amongst you and nobody would know, and the longer we’re here, the more human we become; at first we don’t need to eat or drink – we nourish ourselves in the energy streams, usually, or sleep, or feel human emotions; that was what Roscoe meant, telling me not to get contaminated; he wasn’t talking about the illness, just about the angel part of me getting lost under the human...’

‘But you said you were assigned to work with the gay community, not that you heard someone ask for help...’

‘Well, you’re not very good at asking for help, these days, you lot. And assignments are a good way for the ones above us to keep a watchful eye on what we’re doing down here. Especially me, since I seem to be a little... accident prone... I’ve worked with children, and with old people and loved it each and every time... I made a mistake, though, last time, with May, and they made me go back up and lectured me...’

‘What happened with May? Have you got something from her, in that collection of yours?’

‘Yes, I do... a dance card from when she was young, she loved to dance even into her eighties... I was helping her after she’d been poorly, in her residential home... someone had the bright idea of tea dances for them, I turned up in time to partner her, got her talking about the old times... she kept saying there was something about me, was I her guardian angel, I told her, no, he doesn’t dance... well, she had... some sort of thing, a stroke, heart attack – I thought, we all thought she was dying and... well, I hadn’t liked lying to her about what I was so I... she was frightened, you see, I thought it would help if she saw my wings, so I showed her, only because she was dying, and she did, she felt better, and then... fuck me if there wasn’t a last minute miracle, she got well, told everyone it was an angel saved her, there’s her GA...’

‘GA?’

‘Guardian angel... looking daggers at me and next thing you know, I’m up on a disciplinary in front of Malachai for flaunting my wings...’

‘Doesn’t sound much like the Realms of Glory to me, all that bitching about wingspans and stuff...’

‘You know, you could be right. So when I was given the job of looking after the gay community, it was sort of my chance to redeem myself...’ Blake sighed. ‘And then I go and ask about gerbils, and suddenly I have nowhere to go, and I meet young Jeff at the train station and he brings me to you, and then I let you see my wings... and just when I thought it would be all right, and I like it here, and... and now I’m done for.’ 

‘No, don’t think that... you said, your job went well, tonight. And yesterday, that young lad, you were very kind to him, probably wouldn’t have got what he needed if you hadn’t got him talking... I saw how you were with the customers, you engaged with them, they like you... Look, if anyone says anything, tell them to talk to me. I’ll explain.’

‘Gethin, you really are kind. Thank you, thank you for listening. You know, in the past, I’ve had people say to me, oh, you don’t know what a relief it is to have someone just listen to you. Well, I do now.’


	5. Monkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin refuses admission to a visitor...

Gethin didn’t know what time he got to bed. He did know that Blake kept hold of his hand all the time they talked, all the way up the stairs to the landing outside the bedrooms so that Gethin wondered if he’d ever let go, if he’d find himself with an impossibly gorgeous bloke who just happened to be an angel following him to his bed simply because he didn’t want to stop holding hands...

It almost happened, too...

‘I say,’ Blake began. ‘You’ve been so lovely to me, I wonder if... it’s the wings, you see, get in the way a bit in the small room... and I feel the cold right now so... could I...? Just for tonight, would you take the guest room and let me loose in the big one? I promise to be careful, but I could double up the blankets, you see, and it really would help...’

‘We could, if you liked, you know... huddle together for warmth?’ Gethin muttered hopefully.

‘That’s so nice of you, so kind... I wouldn’t want to get you into any bother, it’s bad enough already but if they thought I’d... well... not that... why would you? And I... No, you need your own bed, I see that. Better not share, though, but thank you. I’ll manage in the guest room, I’ll be fine, I...’

‘No, no, don’t be daft!’ Gethin said, embarrassed now. ‘Make yourself at home, really. Um... let me just tidy up for you...’  
It meant prising his hand out of Blake’s, at last, and quickly straightening the bed, and closing the magazines on the bedside cabinet (and then sliding them under the bedstead, just to be on the safe side...) he gathered what he needed for the morning, and then left Blake to it.

‘Sleep well, then. If you need anything, you know where I am, give me a shout.’

Blake nodded.

‘Goodnight, Gethin. Sleep well.’

*

Good thing it was Sunday next day, the morning almost gone when Gethin woke up and even then not knowing why, or what woke him, full of improbable, muzzy dreams of an angel that looked like Blake and complained that his wings weren’t pretty enough and would Gethin please help wash them?

He sat up abruptly, hearing a distant banging. Someone was knocking on the door of the shop two floors below.

On a Sunday?

Hauling himself out of the narrow bed, Gethin staggered down to the turn in the stairs where there was a window opening onto the street, and looked out. 

There on the pavement, peering through the shop window, was someone vaguely familiar, even from this odd angle; Roscoe, the chap who’d brought Blake’s stuff, ginger hair bouncing in time with his knocking.

Deciding it would be better not to shout down on the grounds it would only encourage the fellow, Gethin was about to step back when Roscoe looked up and locked eyes with him through the window.

‘I say,’ he shouted up. ‘I need to come in.’

With a sigh Gethin hauled up the window.

‘Shop’s closed,’ he said. ‘It’s Sunday. Open at nine sharp tomorrow.’

‘But I’m here now.’

‘And what did you want to buy, exactly?’

‘Well, no, I just want to come in...’

‘You can’t, sorry.’ Except he wasn’t of course; he just felt somehow protective of Blake’s privacy and didn’t want him upset or bothered. ‘Besides, you might get contaminated, right? Infected.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean anything personal by that, I...’

Gethin slid the window down on Roscoe’s voice and went back upstairs to get dressed. 

He’d barely got there when the knocking started again, but resolutely ignored it while he washed and shaved and dressed for the day, his best jeans, snug tee shirt...

‘He won’t give up,’ Blake called through as Gethin closed the guest room door behind himself. ‘He’ll have heard about the incident and will be wanting to know what’s happened about my... my you-know-whats...’

‘I’ll get the kettle on, tea and toast, yes?’

‘Lovely. But Roscoe...’

‘Bugger Roscoe,’ Gethin muttered, and went back to haul up the window again. ‘Hey! Are you ever going to stop that racket? It’s a Sunday, we like a bit of peace on Sundays.’

‘Just as soon as you open the door. I need to talk to your lodger.’

‘Well, you can’t, so get lost, why don’t you?’

‘But I have to find out if he’s... I have to talk to him, in private.’

‘Oh, for...! Just sod off, will you?’

‘I am going. But I will be back. Or if not me, someone else.’

‘Fine,’ Gethin called down. ‘If I’m going to let anyone in to pester him, it’s going to be the organ grinder, not the bloody monkey, for God’s sake! So fuck off before I call the authorities!’

Roscoe stared up for a moment and then sighed, lifted his hands, and backed away.

Blake’s voice dropping down the stairs towards him.

‘Actually, Gethin, you just did.’

Gethin shut the window and went back up to the landing, saw the bedroom door was a few inches open.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You might have called the authorities. Sort of. When you blasphemed. Come in. It’s all right, I’m decent.’ 

Blake was swathed in bedding, only his head and wings showing. The injuries to his face were noticeably improved, the bruises already faded to yellow, the grazes and scrapes far less red and raw.

‘You look better,’ Gethin said. ‘How’s the... um... wing?’

‘The alula, yes, it’s better, much better... don’t think I can furl yet though, so it means I won’t be able to go out... that was Roscoe outside?’

Gethin nodded. ‘I don’t open the shop on Sundays, not for anyone, but if you wanted to talk to him...’

‘No, no, he’s just checking up on me... might have heard about my spot of bother last night, of course, and if he thought you knew about the wings...’

‘Why I tried to get rid of him, less I said the better, I thought...’

‘Well, you certainly managed that! And thank you, but... I should have said last night... there’s certain things... he – none of us – can enter a private dwelling without invitation, but he could come into the shop, you see?’

‘Yes...?’

‘But if you – it didn’t matter so much when you didn’t know what I am, but if you blaspheme, it’s sort of... well, as I said, calling the authorities. You never know who’s listening or who might show up...’

‘Chr... right, I see.’

‘The swearing’s okay, oddly enough, just... just the names... we might end up with one of the Primal Ones on the doorstep and then where would we be?’

‘Dunno, this is all a bit of a mystery to me...’

‘Well, some of them are all right, others... the power goes to their heads a little...’

‘Tea and toast downstairs, ten minutes okay? Best not to try and tell me anything too complicated before breakfast, right?’

*

It was an odd sort of day which Gethin spent asking careful questions and trying not to be too overwhelmed by the answers; he had the feeling Blake was doing his best to keep it simple, but even with the echoes of his mother’s religion still too firmly fixed in his memory, Gethin struggled and kept coming back to the obvious.

‘It’s the wings,’ he said. Can’t get over them, sorry... lovely things, they are.’

In daylight the wings were more spectacular than ever, the bright blue barring standing out brilliantly amongst the soft beiges of the contour plumage and the white and black flight feathers.

‘I wish the others could hear you saying that. No, wait... perhaps it’s best not...’

‘Would it really cause problems?’

Blake nodded.

‘Oh, there are some humans who have seen us as we are. But mostly they’re old ladies with too many cats and nobody pays any attention to them... the first thing they tell us is that if a human sees our wings, they’ll go into some sort of meltdown, mental breakdown, hysterics, never be the same again and...’

‘What, like I did?’

‘Actually, you were very calm. Of course, nobody else has ever caught me with them out, so you might just be really unflappable...’ He grimaced at the use of the word. ‘I wouldn’t like to cause you any emotional distress...’

Gethin found himself smiling.

‘Nice of you,’ he said. ‘I think I’m coping quite well, really. You said you showed the old lady, though...May, was it?’

‘I did, yes... that was different, though, it really wasn’t accidental... I had to admit that when they asked me...’

‘Would you be in much trouble?’

‘Probably. I’m glad you know, though.’

A knock downstairs at the outer door to the flat startled them; it wasn’t the repeated, annoying banging as it had been on the shop that morning, but clean and sharp, courteous, almost.

Blake lifted his head and jumped up from the sofa.

‘That’s... for me, I think...’

‘Steady, Blake. What did you say, have to be asked in? You go up to your room, if you like. Let me deal with it. If it’s Roscoe again, I’ll send him on his way with a flea in his ear.’

He waited for Blake to nod, and leave the room before he opened the front door and made his way down to the street door.

There on the doorstep was a neat and tidy man in with silvering hair and an air of authority. He wore a well-fitting suit and he had the same ageless eyes as Blake, and a friendly twinkle. Behind him, practically hopping from one foot to the other, was Roscoe.

‘Good evening,’ the man said. ‘I’d like a word with young Blake, if you please.’

Somehow, in spite of all his previous determination to forbid entrance to whoever wanted to bother Blake, Gethin found himself less willing to protest.

‘Um... and you are...?’

‘Oh, I’m the organ-grinder. Very well, Roscoe, you be off about your business now; we will manage just fine without your help.’

‘I say, Gethin,’ Blake called from somewhere behind and above him. ‘If... if you wanted to invite this fellow in, you know, I’m sure it will be all right.’

Footsteps, and Gethin turned to see Blake on his way down the staircase, gorgeous wings held proudly folded at his back, gorgeous muscles all on show.

Gethin swallowed and nodded and turned back to the sharply dressed man on the doorstep.

‘About to put the kettle on again anyway,’ he said. ‘Will you come in for a cup of tea?’

‘Most kind,’ the visitor said. ‘And if there happen to be biscuits...’

‘Custard creams, is it?’

‘Actually, I prefer chocolate digestives myself. If you’re sure it’s no trouble...?’


	6. Organ-Grinder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the visitor explains a little more... and Gethin and Blake have a Moment...

It all seemed very friendly, in Gethin’s eyes. Tea and biscuits, the smart gentleman sitting neatly in a chair and eating chocolate digestives whilst making hardly any crumbs, Blake seated sideways on the sofa with his wings draped over the back and arm, Gethin at the other end of the sofa dividing his attention between them both.

‘So... Blake you already know... I’m Gethin Roberts, I own the shop below... didn’t catch your name, sorry, are you one of those primal ones he mentioned...?’

‘No, Gethin, don’t...’ Blake protested, his eyes frantically anxious, but the smart gentleman just smiled in an economical sort of way and inclined his head fractionally.

‘Don’t worry, Jonathan, it’s quite an unexceptional question in the circumstances... yes... who am I, to you...? Well, you already seem to know the key facts about Blake here, no, I’m not a Primal One, I’m a Primordial, it’s rather more involved... shall we say... they’re middle men whilst I’m senior management, perhaps? Mentor, too, I would like to think... names are such tedious things, don’t you think? To be trapped in one designation for all one’s time...’

‘Generally, I call him ‘sir’,’ Blake offered. ‘He doesn’t mind, not like... well.’

‘Not like some of the others of my echelon,’ the stranger said. ‘They say I am out of step with the traditional ways to which I tend to reply: Good! Because, of course, the modern world is, in turn, very much out of step with their traditions.’ His eyes strayed to a copy of a magazine Gethin had brought for Blake to browse through and turned away a little too hastily to suggest comfort with the subject matter. ‘And so if we are to provide effective assistance, we, too must adapt. Blake here has shown the sort of versatility I believe is necessary in the modern world and especially some of its more vulnerable communities.’

‘I make mistakes, though,’ Blake said. ‘I try – I really do, but things get away from me and seem to matter and...’

‘Never mind that now, Jonathan, your tea is growing cold.’

‘It wasn’t Blake’s doing,’ Gethin said. ‘Revealing himself, his... heard him coming in, went to see if he was okay... is it true, sir, they don’t respect his wings?’

‘There is, shall we say, a certain degree of envy between the kindred brethren... it is entirely a waste of energy, of course. Are you badly hurt, Jonathan?’

‘Just a little bruise to the alula, sir. Should be able to furl the wings away properly tomorrow, I hope.’

The Primordial nodded.

‘That’s good news. You’ve been here how long now?’

‘Here, in the shop, just since yesterday. About a week settling in.’

‘First official task yesterday?’

‘Yes, it went well, I thought... got the girl somewhere to stay, need to follow up tomorrow, but I’m sure it will be fine...’

‘Next time, get the bus home, or a taxi, do you hear me? There are too many obstacles in the air over this city.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So... your first job was yesterday, but there have been reports... ‘

‘I stayed with a few people, chatted a little, you know, just being friendly... I... well,’ Blake looked down at his hands. ‘Sorry.’

‘In fact, there is no need for an apology; I was merely going to say apart from one or two little indiscretions, you’ve done well.’

‘Have I?’ Blake brightened. ‘Have I really?’

‘Even to the extent that you have, somehow, managed to position yourself at the hub of the local community in which I want you to work...’

‘If I can just say something?’ Gethin began. ‘Nothing Blake has said or done was anything like as bad as Roscoe talking about being infected, or contaminated by being here... some of the people who come into the shop would be extremely offended if they’d heard...’

‘Yes. Roscoe needs bringing up to date on a few things, I think... but meanwhile, you seem to have taken Jonathan under your wing, so to speak... is there a time-limit on your generosity?’

Gethin shrugged. ‘If Blake’s working with the community, my community, it makes sense for him to be here. And at least it’s only me he’s asking daft questions, that way.’

‘Besides which, Gethin already knows about the wings. Makes it a lot easier. I don’t like the deceit...’

‘I know you don’t, Jonathan. So this is better for everyone, isn’t it? I want you to stay at least until the New Year, in fact Epiphany would seem like a good time for me to come and see how you’re getting on... make yourself useful however you can, if there are any specific assignments, we will send you word... and, Gethin? The standard proviso still holds for you as much as for the rest of humankind; if you need help, ask the angels. You’ll find it can be very rewarding.’

‘What, good at washing up, is he?’

‘Actually, I’m quite a good cook,’ Blake piped up.

‘Sounds just about perfect, my very own Christmas angel...’

‘Thank you for the tea, Gethin,’ the Primordial said. ‘I should be getting along now. Jonathan, walk me down, would you?’

There was a slightly puzzled look on Blake’s face when he returned to the sitting room.

‘That went well, didn’t it?’ Gethin asked. ‘I thought it sounded as if it went well... what’s up now?’

‘It did, it did go well, I think. It’s just... something he said, at the door. That now I’ve been here – on the round world – for a while, I’d start to become more human, and the longer I’m in the human form, the more human-like I’ll be...’

‘Already very human, I thought.’ Gethin grinned. ‘Daft as a brush, mind, but very human. Don’t worry about it.’

‘But he started talking about appetites increasing and developing and... well, I already eat a lot of toast as it is...’

Gethin laughed, surprising himself; he’d not felt so light of heart for months.

‘Shouldn’t worry about that, either; fabulous physique you have, don’t think a bit of toast’s going to spoil it.’

‘Do you really think so?’ Blake looked down at his own bare chest. ‘I’d never thought before. Generally just part of the energy streams, you see. No physique to speak of. I must say, I do like the feel of being human, though.’

‘But you’ve done it before, you said; May, and Toby, and that.’

‘Well, yes. But not for days at a time; I didn’t stay on the round world then, I just visited. It’s different.’ Blake shrugged his shoulders, causing his wings to shiver and flutter. ‘Not with the wings on display much, either; just coming in to land, taking off and getting up to the energy streams in the High Heavens. And May, of course. I must say, I do rather like having them on show.’

‘I like seeing them,’ Gethin said. ‘Would you mind if I...?’

‘What? No, go ahead. Natural to be curious, just you know to mind the alula...’

‘Where the blue feathers are, of course.’ 

Gethin reached out a hand to gently stroke the beige plumage on the fold of the wing. It felt soft, smooth, cool and warm at the same time. Blake’s eyes half-closed and he sighed as Gethin felt a sudden urge to bury his fingers in the yielding down become a longing to move nearer and take Blake in his arms, to slide his hands up under those amazing, glorious wings... there came a swirl of that aromatic spiced cinnamon chocolate scent, heady and rich, Blake shivered suddenly, and Gethin jumped back, pulling his hand away and feeling his face grow hot. Somehow the atmosphere felt charged, dynamic, as if more than just stroking feathers had taken place...

‘Sorry, Blake, I didn’t...’

‘No, no, it’s fine, fine... not sure what happened there, just... well.’

‘Well.’ Gethin cleared his throat, not quite sure what to say. ‘More tea.’

‘Good idea.’


	7. Bringing Work Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake, and Gethin, are back to work after the weekend...

The rest of the day passed with caution, Gethin keeping his distance and trying to work out what had nearly happened; he had always prided himself on his self-control, and to refrain from making a pass at a straight guy, however fit, was just simple good manners. But there had been something about being so near to Blake, the drift of his wings, the look on his face as he’d closed his eyes and that unexpected scent of chocolate spice... no, it had been too much, and Gethin had better remember Blake was straight, wasn’t interested, wasn’t ever going to be interested...

As for Blake, he settled to some reading, going through the magazines Gethin had selected for him. After a while, he looked up.

‘I say, Gethin,’ he began. ‘There’s a lot to know, isn’t there?’

‘I suppose so. You don’t need to know everything, though. And you can always ask... as long as you warn me first... and sometimes there aren’t answers, not really.’

‘I suppose not, no... I keep thinking about that young fellow in the shop, whose parents threw him out... so very young, just a boy, really, and he’s got all this to take on and no support at home... but there’s nothing wrong with him, if he’d become ill his parents would care for him, wouldn’t they? But as it is they’ve just turned him out onto the streets. It doesn’t seem right.’

‘Well, short of going round there and giving them a good talking too, not much you can do, is there?’

‘No, no... Don’t suppose you know his address, do you?’

‘No. Can’t really ask, either; have to be careful, you see, he’s underage... very underage.’

‘Ah.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to help, but with the shop, bit in the public eye...’

‘Yes, yes, I see. But you do what you can, I know you do. It reminds me a bit of Harold...’

‘Harold?’

‘Just a minute...’ Blake left the room, to return a few moments later with his battered cardboard box. ‘Harold. You see this bookmark...?’

And he was off on another story about one of the many people he seemed to have connected with at some point in his past.

*

Next morning Gethin was in the middle of breakfast when Blake’s tread on the stairs alerted him to the imminent arrival of his angelic guest. He walked in with a bounce and a grin and an acid yellow satin shirt that should have clashed with his hair but didn’t; perhaps the purple waistcoat he’d teamed with it somehow offset the effect.

‘Morning, Blake.’

‘Good morning, Gethin! Look, no wings!’ He spread his hands and twirled round to demonstrate his fully-clad, wing-fee state. ‘Well, obviously, there are still wings, but they’re all furled away inside my back, where they ought to be. Isn’t that marvellous?’

‘Um... except that I can’t see your wings, yes... Warmer for you? And it means you’re all better from the bump now?’

‘Almost, almost. Certainly well enough for work again. So, if I can pinch a piece of toast from you...’

‘Help yourself,’ Gethin said, sliding back his chair. ‘Tea in the pot, need to go and prep the shop for opening. If you go out... well, you don’t have to, you’ve got the spare key, but if you wanted to let me know...’

‘Thank you, Gethin. I’ll do that. Tea around 10.30, isn’t it? I can bring you a cup on my way out.’

*

True to his word, and just when Gethin needed a break from answering questions and serving, there was Blake with tea and a friendly smile for the customers and an ‘anything I can help with?’ expression that did, at least, give Gethin a little breathing space.

‘Yes... try the leaflet table and the notice board... if you don’t find what you want there, come and ask the boss, okay?’

‘Thanks,’ Gethin said, lifting the mug of tea. ‘Had a call to say my assistant’s got flu, or something like it. Won’t be in this week.’

‘Oh, no... you’ll be on your own, then?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Well, I’ll try and be back for one, if I can. See you later.’

The morning flew. Gethin loved the shop, the work, he was useful, people liked books, some people really liked his books, and being able to provide information and advice as well as a good read was rewarding.

Just before two, the bell jangled and seconds later Blake was at the desk, his hands on the shoulders of a young woman he’d placed in front of him. She had one side of her head shaved, the rest of her hair crimped and dyed pink and orange, and she looked as if she didn’t know whether to be nervous or amused.

‘Gethin, this is Steph...’

‘Hullo,’ Gethin said, sliding a book into a brown paper bag for a customer.

‘Hi.’

‘There, isn’t this nice? Steph’s a... she’s... a levee...’

‘What?’ Gethin asked.

Steph stifled a grin, shaking her head. 

‘Try the other word, Jonathan,’ she said, turning her eyes to him. ‘You can do it.’

‘Steph’s a... a d... a ditch, that is, oh, she’s your new assistant and she’s qualified for the job because she likes girls, okay? Do I have to say the words, I keep thinking of little Dutch boys and Greek islands and it’s very confusing...’

By some miracle the shop was empty but for the three of them.

‘A levee, Blake?’

Blake shrugged. 

‘How about I go and put the kettle on in the back room?’ he suggested.

‘Off you go, then.’

‘He can’t say ‘lesbian,’ for some reason,’ Steph said in confiding tones. ‘Or ‘dyke’, it’s like his mouth gets stuck...’

‘Probably a good thing too... at least he hasn’t insulted you, I hope? Or has he? How many times do you need me to apologise for him?’

She shook her head, grinning.

‘He’s mad, your friend. Nice, though.’

‘He’s not been round the community long.’

‘Yeah, I got that. Is it right, you’ve got a job going?’

Apparently so.

‘Temporary. Very temporary, my assistant’s got ‘flu so it’s just going to be until she’s back, Christmas, maybe. Four hours a day. Apart from what Blake considers your qualifications, have you got any experience in retail?’

‘None at all.’

‘Have to ask how old are you?’

‘Twenty one. Really. November.’

‘I say,’ Jonathan called. ‘Tea’s ready.’

‘Okay, I’ll close up for a bit, give you the tour. Come through.’

*

‘All settled?’ Blake asked.

‘Yes, in spite of the fact that I’m friends with a lunatic, Steph’s going to help out until Christmas...’

‘Only Christmas?’ Blake asked, his voice sounding hurt.

‘Unless you want to do Saturdays, Steph? I can’t get anyone to do afternoons.’

‘I can do that,’ the girl said with such eagerness that Gethin was almost worried. ‘Saturdays, yeah, all day if you like.’

‘Okay, well, let’s see how it goes.’

*

And it seemed to go okay. Steph was keen to learn, bright, could handle cash, all right with the customers, perhaps a bit of a mouth on her, but still... got the idea of the leaflets and the noticeboard, nodding appreciatively.

‘I might come along to one or two of these groups myself,’ she said as she was getting ready to leave at the end of the afternoon. ‘New in town, see.’

‘Thought as much. You got somewhere to stay?’

‘Yeah, Jonathan found me a hostel until I can sort out a flat. Have to be out by nine, and back for six or I don’t get my tea.’

‘You see, Steph could do more hours if you needed her to...’

‘Thanks, Blake. Sorry, Steph, can’t afford to pay more than four hours a day. But you’re welcome to sit in the back room if you like.’

‘I might do that, thanks. See you tomorrow?’

‘If you can do ten until two, that’d be great.’

‘Um... do I have to work a week in hand or anything? Because...’

‘No, I know what it’s like doing that, new job, no pay but bus fares to find...’ ‘Gethin opened the till, took out several pound notes. ‘Two hours’ wages there, see you tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, thanks, Geth...’

‘Gethin.’

‘See you then.’

Gethin locked up, wrote an IOU for the wages and slipped it in the till to sort out tomorrow. 

‘Is this going to happen a lot?’ he called through to where Jonathan was lurking in the back room. ‘Bringing your work home with you?’

‘Probably, I don’t know... but you needed help, Steph needed a job... it all sorted itself out rather well, I thought.’

‘Are you coming up to the flat?’

*

They were no sooner in, the door shut, light on, curtains closed against the dark, kettle on, when Blake looked around as if noticing something for the first time.

‘I say, Gethin...?’

What now? But Gethin restrained himself from the impatient answer.

‘What, Blake?’ 

‘When are you going to decorate for Christmas?’

‘Tree’s been in the window since the end of November...’

‘Not in the shop! Here, in the flat?’

‘I don’t decorate.’

‘What? Why ever not?’

‘Crass commercialism, consumerism run amok, materialism, cheapening the meaning of Christmas, if you believe in all that, sorry, you’re an angel, of course you do, busy time of year for you I suppose, anyway...’

‘But... no, that’s not why you should have a Christmas tree, not the only and all of it... it’s the bright and the shiny and the pretty colours, tinsel and... and fairy lights, can I say that? Or should I just say lights? No, I mean bringing some brightness in at the dark point of the year, looking forward to the longer days again. You don’t have to be Christian to do Christmas. I do love a tree, I don’t care if it’s artificial, or real, not really, but...’

‘I don’t have a tree. It’s more expense, and you have to get decorations, and store them, and...’

‘So that’s a no then?’ Blake sighed. ‘That’s a pity. I like to look at a good Christmas tree...’

‘There’s one in the shop downstairs, you can look at that all you like tomorrow.’

*

After tea (Blake raided the fridge and cooked something amazing for them both) Gethin cleared away and headed for the door.

‘There’s a meeting downstairs at seven, I need to settle them in, I won’t be long.’

‘Okay. Do you know where The Stripy Yo-Yo is? Or even what it is, for that matter?’

‘Yes, it’s a pub, a gay bar, really, not that far from here. Why?’

‘Oh, I’ve got a job there...’

‘I take it you don’t mean as a barman?’

‘No, one of my jobs, helping... I might be late... if it’s a bar, you could come with me, if you liked?’

‘I have to sort out this group... and lock up after them. I would, but I can’t get away until nine...’

‘That should be okay; my job doesn’t really start until quarter to ten, thereabouts. How’s about you meet me there after the meeting?’ Blake smiled. ‘It’ll be nice to have company.’

‘Are you even allowed to drink?’

‘Of course. If I want to. I’m an angel, not a teetotaller. So will you come?’

‘All right. See you there.’

*

Gethin arrived at The Stripy Yo-Yo just after nine-thirty, having changed into his favourite shirt hastily after the meeting and thrown himself into a taxi. Blake was at a corner table behind the door, nursing what looked like a glass of lemonade. A little circle of empty places surrounded him, as if there were a buffer zone ringing the table. Gethin got himself a pint of bitter and went to join his lodger.

‘It’s nice here,’ Blake said, ‘it’s a fun atmosphere. Everyone’s very friendly. Only... over there... I’ve been watching, can’t keep my eyes off them... it looks amazing, but...’

Gethin followed the direction of Blake’s eyes to where a cluster of people were dancing to music from the juke box.

‘The dancing?’

‘Is that dancing? That’s not how May and I danced... is it even legal?’

Gethin grinned.

‘Why, want to join in?’

‘I... could I?’

‘If you go up alone, you might get chatted up, that’s the only thing...’ 

‘Well, I don’t see why I would... I don’t suppose you’d dance with me?’

Dazed and delighted at the chance, Gethin nodded and tried for restrained acceptance.

‘Love to.’

Wonderful, dancing with Blake was wonderful, and so what if he was straight? He was gorgeous, enthusiastic, uninhibited and graceful on the dance floor and whatever the reason he was dancing with Gethin, they were still dancing together. Gethin orbited Blake’s moves, following as best he could, not caring if he went wrong because who was looking at him anyway? Everyone’s eyes, including his, were on Blake as he let his hips do the talking in very unangelic fashion...

And Gethin was going home with him tonight, it was so nearly almost perfect...

The music ended. Blake threw back his head and swept his hair away.

‘That was fun!’ he said. ‘But any minute now...’

‘Any minute now what?’ Gethin asked as he followed Blake back to bar where the angel ordered a glass of lemonade and drank it down swiftly.

‘Someone’s going to come in... Yes, other end of the bar, do you see him? Older gentleman, well, I say gentleman, he isn’t... and he isn’t gay.’

‘Some straight people do go drinking with their gay friends, you know... and, anyway, you can’t tell by looking.’

‘I can.’

‘No, Blake. Not always. If you’re going to work with the community that the first thing you need to know...’

‘I can,’ Blake insisted. ‘It’s all in the aura. A gay person’s aura has sparkly bits in...’

‘Sparkly bits?’

‘Yes. Yours are blue and purple, and really lovely... I could look at your aura for ages, actually... the barman’s twinkles are green... the young fellow over there, his are a very light shade of yellow – I guess that means he’s not been out for long... but the straights’ auras don’t sparkle at all, just solid colour. I think it’s only for me, so I can identify who might need me or not, I don’t know...’

‘Sparkly auras.’

‘Mmm.’ Blake nodded. ‘That’s right. And that fellow over there, he’s not sparkling. Oh, fuck, and the dark colour of his aura... it’s really not good...’

The angel pushed away from the bar suddenly.

‘Look, Gethin, look what’s going on! He’s got a boy with him... that’s Craig, too, you know, youngster who was in the shop?’

‘Yes, I know who you mean...’

As they watched, the older man pushed a full glass of something towards the young man. It looked like orange juice, but Gethin was willing to bet it wasn’t. Craig shook his head, as if he didn’t want it; the older man talking, gesturing, placating and smooth, but pushing the glass closer towards him anyway.

‘Okay, so, it’s your job, what are you going to do next?’

‘I don’t know. Not sure what I can do unless something happens and if something happens it might be too late, but usually it all sort of starts to unfold when I begin, and I read things from the people I’m with...’

‘Right. Your mentor chap said I was to ask for help, right?’

‘Right, so...?’

‘So help me get this lad out of here and back to his mum, okay?’

‘Yes, okay. Good plan.’

They headed for the bar, Gethin catching the barman’s eye and leaning towards him.

‘See them two at the end? Happen to know the boy’s under age, for drinking too, now, don’t want to make trouble but thought you needed to know...’

That done, he wandered up to Craig’s side.

‘Hi, Craig,’ he said, nodding past the youngster to his companion. ‘Sorted things out with your dad, did you?’

Craig jumped, but there was something like relief in his eyes as recognition dawned.

Gethin extended his hand to Craig’s companion.

‘Gethin Roberts, bookshop proprietor, I gave your boy some advice when he came in the other day, nice to see you’re talking again, it’s a difficult time, I know...’

‘Ah, now, no...’

‘Gethin...’

From beyond Craig’s not-dad, Blake spoke up loud and clear.

‘Gethin, sorry to interrupt, but this isn’t his father; this is Ken Forster, he’s a married man and he is a father all right, two daughters, one of them Craig’s age, another younger...’

‘Now, I...’ Ken put in. 

Gethin ignored him, gestured to the drink in front of Craig.

‘I’m guessing that isn’t orange juice, and that you didn’t ask for it?’

‘No, I... but, you see, it’s...’

‘Consider, a moment. What does it say to you that a man old enough to be your father wants to make you drink alcohol you obviously don’t want? If he doesn’t respect you over drinks, what else will he ignore you saying ‘no’ to?’

Craig’s head moved slowly from side to side.

‘He isn’t gay, Craig,’ Blake put in from where he was standing next to Forster. ‘He’s married with kids and he has other friends who like to play with youngsters like you. Only it isn’t much fun for the youngsters... his last plaything was a girl, fifteen, so that makes him something else, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t have to stay here and listen to this!’ Forster blustered. ‘It’s not like that, anyway. Craig, we’re leaving!’

‘Is that what you want, Craig? To leave with this child molester?’ Blake asked. ‘Because, if so, I’ll come too, I think. If it’s all nice and friendly, it won’t be a problem, will it?’

Craig turned to Gethin.

‘I haven’t got anywhere else to go,’ he said in a desperate whisper.

‘Yes, you have,’ Gethin told him. ‘We can sort something out. But if you go with him, and something happens you don’t want, what then? What if you change your mind? Do you know where he lives, is that where he’s taking you? If it went wrong, would you be brave enough to go to the police? Or would he get away with it, do it to someone else? Would you end up in the river?’

A sudden flash and whirr from behind the bar. Even as Forster protested and launched himself away from the bar and out of the pub, the barman was stepping back, pulling at a Polaroid and wafting the undeveloped photograph in the hopes it would develop it further.

‘Rogue’s gallery,’ he said to Gethin quietly. ‘We don’t want that sort in here, we get enough grief without it. And if you want to take your young friend, obviously your little brother or cousin and not a stranger, out of here, I’d be grateful.’

Outside, the lad slumped and Blake patted at his shoulder. 

‘What’s your mum’s phone number, then?’ he asked.

‘I can’t – my dad, he...’

‘Not a nice chap like Kenny Forster, I take it?’ Gethin murmured.

It seemed to help; Craig sighed and tried to smile.

‘Whatever’s happened, mums are mums,’ Blake said. ‘She’ll want to know you’re okay. That’s all I’m going to do, talk to her, tell her you’re okay.’

The lad repeated the number.

‘Josie,’ he said. ‘Josie Shaw.’

While they waited outside the phone box, Gethin tried a question or two.

‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘After you left the shop, I thought you’d be able to find a place for the night at least...?’

Craig nodded.

‘Yeah, then I met Ken, and then I missed the curfew on the place and so he said, come to mine, and... that’s what threw me, spare room and he wasn’t... didn’t... nothing. He even gave me money for lunch and we had a meal earlier and... and it was only then it got funny, in the pub round the corner, I had a drink there so he didn’t see why I wouldn’t have another...’

‘Does he know where you were staying?’

Craig nodded.

‘Okay, so you shouldn’t go back there anyway. What about your mum’s, does he know that?’

‘No. Just the area, that’s all.’

‘And where did he take you, long way out was it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Figures. Makes it harder to get away.’

‘You know about this stuff?’

‘Only a bit. Hear all sorts of stories, in the shop. Always glad to help, but one thing I can’t do is take you in, sorry.’

The door to the phone box creaked as Blake left it.

‘So, I’ve had a chat with your mum, she’s ever so worried about you, glad to know you’re okay so far... and there’s a taxi on its way, we’re all going round there to have a chat about things...’

‘No!’ Craig protested. ‘My dad, he...’

‘How tall is your dad?’ Gethin asked. ‘As big as Blake, here?’

‘N...no...’

‘Then don’t worry about your dad. Look, if all else fails, we’ll find you a hotel for the night, B&B, something like that. But you never know; Blake has a way with words, I’m sure it’ll be okay.’

‘Besides, your mum said your dad was out. Here’s the cab, come on. Really, it will be fine.’

*

Craig’s mum was like her son; slight, fair, worried. She paused for only a second before grabbing Craig up in a sobbing hug, and even then, Gethin thought, she had hesitated only to see who he’d brought with him.

Eventually she remembered to ask them in, sat them down at the table in the kitchen and tried to make coffee while still keeping hold of Craig and maintaining a monologue of how worried she’d been and what had happened and she’d never meant for it to be like this but, well, it’s all so confusing and you don’t know what to believe and when did Craig last eat anyway?

Over coffee the talking began, and more crying, Gethin sitting back and letting Blake steer the conversation wherever he felt was best; after all, he was the one working here and, for that matter, Gethin didn’t have any personal experience of reconciliation with your mum after coming out...

...and Blake’s eyes were on him, keen and piercing, and Gethin began to wonder if the angel could read his mind, especially when in a little lull, Blake turned to him with a question.

‘How was it for you with your mother, Gethin? Must have been a few years ago, was it very different then?’

‘Let’s just say it wasn’t the most fun time of my life. Except no father around to make things worse. And I didn’t get thrown out; I chose to leave. It was different.’

‘It wasn’t Mum,’ Craig said. ‘It was Dad...’

‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ Mrs Shaw said. ‘I did try – we’ve done nothing but argue, since, but... it’s him or me, he said...’

‘I wonder,’ Blake began. ‘That is, presumably your husband is an adult male, head of a household, good job, car, money in the bank... and your son is an almost-seventeen year old with four pounds fifty three in his pocket... which of them is better suited to being on the streets over Christmas? Which will be able to find shelter and food more easily?’

‘More to the point,’ Gethin put in, ‘which is going to be more appealing to child molesters?’

Craig’s mum paled and drew him to her again, protective and defensive.

‘Yes, well, it’s easy to judge, isn’t it?’

‘It was just a question,’ Blake said mildly. ‘Oh, I say, what a really lovely Christmas tree!’

‘Pardon?’

‘No, I can’t help but notice through the door to your living room... it’s beautiful! My landlord won’t let me have one.’

Gethin drew breath to protest, but a laughing glance from Blake forestalled him as Craig’s mother nodded.

‘We did it together, didn’t we, Craig? Ah, it was a lovely evening...’

‘I was going to tell you then, Mum,’ Craig said. ‘Only Dad got in early and... and then... it was like I couldn’t...’

Mrs Shaw sniffed.

‘You go on upstairs and pack yourself a bag. I’ll phone Aunty Jean and we’ll go to her for a few days, shall we? She’s always asking us for Christmas. A few days in St Albans, it’ll be lovely.’

‘But... yes, mum...’

‘What about your father? Well, he’s left the car here so he could have a decent drink, and we know what that means...! Anyway, he can have the house to himself, we’ll take the car... if you two gentlemen wouldn’t mind staying until we go, just in case he comes back – Craig’s dad – I’d be grateful.’

‘And if you could see your way to giving us a lift, so would we,’ Blake said with his beatific smile.

*

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice you admiring the Christmas tree!’ Gethin said after they’d been dropped off at the end of the street, waved goodbye to the car, and were approaching home. He pointed. ‘Look, shop window, tree, okay?’

‘I had to mention it,’ Blake said. ‘It’s when she said they decorated it together that she realised this new gay Craig was still the same Craig that helped her with the tree... I expect you helped your mother with the tree when you were growing up, didn’t you?’

‘We didn’t bother much. Very religious, my upbringing, trees weren’t really Christian enough for our house...’

‘Oh, so is that why you don’t want a tree, it would remind...’

‘No. Materialism and consumerism.’

‘Little bit of fun and shiny and bright... and a tree would be a lovely reminder that Craig and his mum are friends again... and that reminds me, you know you were saying, about my bringing work home?’

‘Yes, what about it?’ Gethin locked the street door behind them and headed for the stairs.

‘Work brought us home tonight instead, didn’t it?’


	8. O, Christmas Tree...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake tries to persuade Gethin about a Christmas tree, and attends one of the back room meetings...

Tuesday in the shop. Tuesdays were usually a bit slow, but this one, the last before Christmas, got busy early. Good for business, of course, and Steph arrived at quarter to ten to mooch around and get to know the layout a little better before settling in behind the till to wrap the books while Gethin took the money, or take the money and wrap the books while Gethin answered enquiries.

Blake arrived with tea, and coffee for Steph, at half ten. From somewhere he’d managed to acquire several strands of tinsel; red, gold, green and silver and had twined them together to wrap around his neck in a cross between a scarf and a tinselly take on a feather boa. That, coupled with the beret-and-coat suggested he was on his way out.

‘Christmas shopping,’ he said brightly.

‘Mindless consumerism,’ Gethin muttered.

‘...says the shop owner!’ Steph put in. ‘Mind you, Jonathan, someone should tell you that you look very decorative, for a straight guy.’

‘Oh, but I’m not straight,’ Blake said from the doorway, flinging the tinsel scarf more elegantly around his neck. ‘I’m just not gay, that’s all. It’s different.’

‘See?’ Steph said, handing a customer change and nudging Gethin who was staring open-mouthed at the closing shop door. ‘Mental, your friend.’

‘You know, you might be right.’

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Oh, about... three days. Saturday.’

‘What?’ Steph laughed. ‘Three days and he’s swanning in and out like he owns the place?’

‘You’ll have noticed yourself he’s got a certain way about him.’

*

Blake bounded in around 1 pm with a grin. The tinsel scarf had metamorphosed into a single strand of silver tucked underneath his beret; it made Gethin think about angelic haloes and wondered what Blake had been up to, to squash his into place under the hat.

‘I say, I’m back,’ he announced. ‘Just going to run up to the flat with my acquisitions...’

‘Right, okay, um... what did you buy?’ What could an angel possibly want to go shopping for? 

‘Oh, this and that. Not that I actually purchased anything; people are very kind, aren’t they, if you ask in the right way?’ He smiled and changed the subject. ‘How about I make some sandwiches and drinks and bring them down for you both?’

‘Vegetarian, please, Blake,’ Steph said.

‘Now, where on earth am I going to find vegetarian coffee...?’

‘Just make egg sandwiches all round,’ Gethin said. 

He did wonder a little why Blake hadn’t just come through the shop with his mysterious not-purchases, but all became clear when, after closing the shop at five, he made his way up to the flat to find a pungent smell of pine in the hallway and there he found several branches which looked to have been salvaged from at least four different Christmas spruces, stems in a bucket of water and fronds resting against the wall...

‘Blake? What’s this?’

‘It’s going to be a Christmas display. Not a tree – you see, I listened, you said, no tree, and I... I thought it’d look nice instead.’ Blake came into the hall, stirring a pan gently and smiling his innocent, hopeful smile. ‘I went round the market, some of the trees needed trimming and the stallholder gave me the prunings; I’ve got some tinsel...’

‘Yes, noticed the tinsel earlier... sorry, no.’

‘No?’

‘That’s right, no.’

‘A display, though? Like... like flower arranging, very tasteful, I promise...?’

Gethin shook his head, but Blake persisted.

‘Not even in my room? The room you let me sleep in, I mean?’

‘No, because your room still seems to be my room, despite your lack of visible wings, which was the reason for swapping in the first place...’

‘Ah. Well... if I moved back into the guest room, could I possibly...?’

With a sigh that was deliberately heavier than it needed to be, Gethin lifted a hand in defeat.

‘I suppose so. But you can clear up the needles yourself, okay?’

‘Yes, Gethin, thank you, that’s so sweet of you, I knew you’d understand...’ Blake almost danced back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll take it upstairs as soon as I have this sauce behaving itself... shan’t be long...’

‘Better not be; the hall’s starting to smell like a disinfectant factory!’

‘Oh, if it’s just the smell, I can find an artificial one...’

‘No, it’s not just the smell, but it is very...’

‘Fragrant?’

‘Overpowering. There’s been a lovely sort of cinnamon and spice in the air and it’s been squashed by pine...’

‘Never mind. It’ll be upstairs soon. ‘

‘All right, then.’ Gethin made an overture at reconciliation by following Blake through and trying a less controversial topic. ‘Are you in this evening?’

‘Yes, I think so, mostly. I have my Christmas display to decorate. I’m looking forward to it, but it would be a nicer task if it was shared, don’t you think...?’

Gethin nodded, refusing to be drawn. ‘If you waited until tomorrow, Steph might help. About tonight, there’s a meeting in the back room. Some people you might know; Jeff, who brought you here, he’s one of the regulars.’

‘Ah, yes, Jeff. I remember, nice young fellow, very tactile... always patting your arm when he speaks. Hands on your shoulders if he needs to get past, sometimes on your hips...’

‘If you’re lucky. Yes, that’s exactly Jeff.’

It was a little reassuring to realise Jeff had played those tricks of his on Blake, too; perhaps he just liked older men. Well, he’d be in for a shock if he made a play for Blake...

*

By the time Gethin went down to prepare for the meeting, all traces of pine tree had vanished from the flat’s landing. He tried not to feel too guilty about it, but there had been something in Blake’s manner, the slump of his shoulders when Gethin had put his foot down, and there had been an implied invitation to help that might have been nice, if it hadn’t made such a fuss about it being a Christmas tree...

Still, at least he’d got his own bedroom back.

The thought made him smile as he went down to ready the back room, and he didn’t know if it was because even his compact frame found the small single bed confining, or because he would be where Blake had been sleeping...

One of the social groups tonight. He didn’t mind those too much, the political ones were usually frustrating; they had all these ideals and aspirations and not the first notion what to do with them, and the choral group just didn’t do a thing for him, and not just because it was ladies only...

Jeff was amongst the first to arrive. He and three friends came into the back room in a little cluster, high-spirited, young and shrill, obviously fresh from early doors at the pub.

‘Gethin!’ 

Jeff broke off from his friends to come over, to link arms with Gethin and talk twenty to the dozen about nothing whatsoever, ending with a rising note and belatedly Gethin heard the question.

‘Yes, Blake’s still here, spare room.’ He eased himself out of the friendly contact; Jeff was still one of the prettiest boys in the city, but he didn’t have jay’s wings, or smell of spice and chocolate and it was unfair to let him be quite so friendly, in case it seemed like leading him on. ‘Helps out with the cooking, interesting bloke.’

‘I heard you and he were dancing in the Yo-Yo last night...’

‘Did you?’ Gethin tried to sound nonchalant. Truth was, he didn’t really care if someone had seen him, or been gossiping; it wasn’t like there’d been anything secret about it. ‘Hold on; looks like Martin wants a word, catch up later.’

Having sorted out what Martin wanted and escaped Jeff’s tactile chatter, Gethin would have happily gone back up to the flat again and left them to it when Blake arrived with a smile and began introducing himself around the group; somehow, Gethin wasn’t sure how, he ended up staying. Perhaps it was a good idea, though; keep a gentle eye on Blake and make sure he didn’t suffer from foot-in-mouth again.

But the angel-in-disguise seemed to be getting on well with everyone, and although Gethin was treated to Jeff flirting with anyone and everyone (but, oddly enough, only when he thought Gethin might be looking), he also heard the word ‘yo-yo’ mentioned more than once... presumably the story of the dance was circulating and God only knew what Blake was saying about it...

Should he have thought that? Was even thinking the name blasphemous, was it...? what had Blake said...? Calling the authorities, that was it...

But Blake looked over and shook his head fractionally, as if he’d heard Gethin’s thoughts...

Tea break, and Gethin helped out, pouring tea, pretending not to notice that some of the gathering had nothing in their cups except what they’d poured in from bottles in their pockets; Jeff and his crowd seemed to be on the gin, or the vodka, well, at least it didn’t stain like red wine and they were old enough, legally, to drink...

‘Tea, milk, two sugars, and the custard creams are over there,’ Gethin said when Blake arrived at the table, handing him a mug.

‘Thank you. And to put your mind at rest, no, thinking is okay. It’s just if you say it aloud it can have interesting effects.’

‘Can you read my mind?’

‘No, not at all. What I can do is attune to the thoughts of those around me. Especially the ones I spend a lot of time with, or people I’m going to help, if something’s on somebody’s mind... I’m actually going to be needed later. Little bit of a job.’

‘Like last night?’

‘Not really, no... I say, they’re dreadful gossips, aren’t they? Everyone seems to know we were out dancing last night.’

‘I don’t mind, do you?’

‘Well, no. And it was fun. Can we do it again sometime, only without my having to go to work as well?’

‘Um... yes, yeah, of course we can... if you want... Proper club, maybe, though.’

‘That sounds wonderful! When?’

‘What about after Christmas and before New Year? You’ll still be here, we can just pick a night. When we feel like it, when you’re not working, of course.’

‘Lovely! All night, dancing?’

‘If you’ve got the stamina.’

Jeff came fluttering up.

‘If who has the stamina for what?’ he asked, smiling into both their faces as if he couldn’t choose between them.

‘Dancing,’ Blake said at once. ‘Gethin and I are going dancing.’

‘Oh, yes? Do you know what we should do, we should make it a foursome, what do you think, Gethin? I’m sure you could find a friend for Blake, couldn’t you?’

Oh, great, wonderful, perfect, that was all Gethin wanted, Jeff gate-crashing, even if Blake was straight...

Blake shook his head.

‘I’m not,’ he began, ‘...not sure it would work, really. We were going to look at one of the over-25s clubs, weren’t we, Gethin?’

‘Um...’

‘And you don’t look a day over twenty-two, Jeff...’

‘Oh... I see... but...’

‘Red hot about ID in these places,’ Gethin said, recovering. ‘Anyway, looks like tea break’s over.’ 

He nodded towards the rest of the group, returning to their places and once Jeff had retreated, he looked Blake squarely in the eye.

‘I can fend off my own admirers, thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘Jeff’s young, but he’s sort of a friend more than anything.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Besides, what do you know about over-25 clubs?’

‘Only that there are such things; I saw an advertisement in one of those magazines...’

‘Not really the sort of place I was thinking of taking you... you could get into all sorts of trouble there, you and your enquiring mind...’

‘Sounds fascinating! Can we...?’

‘Um... no.’

‘Is that a Christmas display ‘no’ or an absolute ‘no’?’

Gethin grinned in spite of himself.

‘It’s a ‘let’s make it a gentle introduction to the nightlife’ sort of ‘no’. Want more tea?’

*

Eventually the meeting wound down. Jeff helped clear the dirty mugs to the sink, timing it so that he arrived just as Gethin was unloading a tray and effectively cornering him.

‘About earlier, Gethin... I didn’t mean anything, but I thought, well, Jonathan isn’t gay, he says so himself, I just...’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Gethin said, sidestepping and trying to see where Blake had got to; typically, he’d disappeared just when his company would have been useful... Perhaps Gethin shouldn’t have said about fending off admirers without Blake’s help... 

‘I mean, before I introduced you two, I thought we were... friends...?’ 

Jeff paused to look up under his lashes at Gethin, a whole world of appeal there, and a week ago, Gethin would have been struggling to keep his hands to himself. Now though, it was almost too easy... Oh, Jeff was still pretty and alluring... but no longer a temptation...

‘Yes, and we’re still friends,’ Gethin said, allowing his voice to sound distracted as he scanned the room for sight of Blake. ‘The group you came in with seem to be looking for you...’

‘Oh, yes, well, Sam and Douggie, they’ve a long bus ride home, but Alan and I are on the Tube, I suppose we need to be making tracks... See you again before Christmas?’

‘The shop isn’t going anywhere so, if you’re in, yes.’

People were leaving, suddenly, in one of those strange mass-migrations that seem to take place amongst groups everywhere, each individual taking in the unconscious cues from the people surrounding them, resulting in coats and gloves and cries of ‘Goodnight!’ all around. As they emptied out from the back room, through the shop and onto the pavement outside, Gethin realised there was still no sign of Blake.

It was only as Gethin stood in the doorway waving the stragglers off that he saw him, in the phone box over the street, apparently making a call. But there was a phone in the flat, he’d only to ask...

Jeff and his friends left, crossing over to head off their bus stop and tube station. One of the lads still outside the shop called something, and Jeff turned back towards him just as a car screeched round the corner to be transfixed by its headlights...

Time slowed, slurred as everyone scattered. Blake left the phone box, the only thing moving faster than the car, banging into Jeff and thrusting him out of the way, the pair of them arcing through the air to hit the pavement hard. 

The car screamed on.

Voices, loud and urgent as time resumed its usual speed and Gethin took charge.

‘Blake, Jeff, you okay?’

‘We’ll do, I think,’ Blake said, getting to his feet and helping Jeff up; the youngster almost hurtled himself at Gethin.

‘Oh, I thought I’d be hit, it was awful, I could only see the lights, I couldn’t move...’

Well, he’d moved quickly enough just now, Gethin thought, unable to do anything except put a consoling arm around Jeff’s young shoulders; he was trembling.

‘Well, you’re okay, thanks to Blake.’ He looked out to the street. ‘Don’t suppose anyone got the registration number?’

Headshaking and shrugs all round. Gethin sighed. Of course, it had happened too fast, a dark car, a dark street, and then how d’you prove anything? Not as if Jeff had been hit, thanks to Blake...

‘Gethin...’ One of Jeff’s friends, ah... Alan, looking pale from shock. ‘Is Jeff really okay?’

‘Car didn’t touch him. let’s get him inside, though.’

The lad nodded and followed Gethin through. Blake went to the sink, running cold water onto a cloth.

‘He hit the ground a little bit hard,’ the angel said. ‘Seems not too badly hurt, though.’

‘Oh, Gethin, it was awful!’ Jeff said, nursing his right wrist in his left hand. ‘I couldn’t move...’

‘You sit down there a minute.’ Gethin helped Jeff to a chair. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Anything stronger?’ Alan asked.

‘Coffee?’ Gethin suggested. He saw Blake smile and go to Jeff, laying the cold, wet cloth on his injured wrist. ‘Nothing stronger, if he has to go to hospital, best not...’

‘Oh, I couldn’t go to hospital!’ Jeff protested. ‘They ask you all these questions, and it’s only a little bump. And this near Christmas, it’ll be full of drunks and... and...’

‘Let’s have a proper look,’ Gethin suggested. ‘First aider, know what to look for...’

Gently he manipulated Jeff’s hand and wrist, apologising when he winced and vaguely aware that Blake was watching proceedings with interest as he made tea.

‘Nothing broken, I don’t think,’ Gethin said, laying the cold cloth back in place on Jeff’s wrist. ‘Go to your doctor tomorrow if you’re still in discomfort. You’ll be pulling left-handed for a couple of days, p’raps..’ Jeff almost smiled at this; Alan gave a shaky laugh. ‘Watch if you take any painkillers tonight, I know that wasn’t lemonade in your mug earlier...’

‘Oh, you’re such a fusspot!’ Jeff protested. ‘You are looking after me, though, I don’t know what would have happened without you...’

‘Well, you’re a good customer. But it was Blake saved you.’ He pushed a mug towards Jeff, another at Alan. ‘And brewed up.’

‘You’re welcome!’ Blake said brightly from next to the kettle. ‘And there’s a cab on the way, about ten minutes, they said. You can’t be going home on the Tube tonight, not now. You’re too shaken up.’

It was more than an hour later when Gethin locked the door to the back room and ushered Blake up to the flat.

‘Didn’t have chance to ask about you,’ he said. ‘Brave of you to do that. You could have got yourself killed!’

‘No, I couldn’t. Created eternal, remember?’

‘Was that what you meant by working tonight, then? Stopping Jeff from getting run over?’

‘Sort of... really, it was stopping Jeff going home by tube; there are some odd sorts on the line tonight.’

‘And you knew to be in the phone box at just the right time to dash out and push him to safety?’

‘I had a feeling. That’s mostly how it works, I get feelings, I listen to them, I do the job. Actually, all I was doing was ringing a cab for him... and everything else just happened...’

‘Good thing you didn’t ring from the shop, isn’t it?’

‘I knew it had to be the phone box.’ The angel shrugged. ‘I enjoyed tonight, mostly. Can I sit in on tomorrow’s as well?’

‘Good luck with that one,’ Gethin said. ‘But I won’t be joining you; it’s the ladies’ choral group tomorrow. Well, I’m going up. Help yourself to anything you need. Goodnight.’


	9. 'O, Christmas Tree...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake keeps trying...

Gethin got downstairs next morning to the fragrant aroma of cooking bacon and the sizzle of the frying pan, the hiss and roar of the kettle boiling.

‘Thought I’d make us breakfast,’ Blake said brightly from the kitchen. ‘You need something hot inside you to start the day. Especially if you’re going to be busy in the shop.’

‘Thanks,’ Gethin said, coming over to help. ‘Never asked, in all the excitement last night, were you okay?’

‘Oh, fine, fine... bit of a bump, wanted to hit the ground first so young Jeff would have a soft landing – very bony lad, isn’t he? But like I say, heal quickly, no problems. There’s some orange juice in the fridge, too, want to get it?’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes – I put it there yesterday.’

The formica-topped table was laid for two and Gethin wondered whether this meal was leading up to anything, although he had to admit it was a better way to start the morning than a bit of jammy toast or a bowl of cornflakes... 

They ate and drank together companionably enough, although Gethin was waiting for the inevitable ‘I say...’ but it wasn’t until they were nearly finished that Blake admitted there was something on his mind.

‘It’s Christmas Eve on Friday,’ the angel observed in his usual innocent, mild tone. ‘And I thought it would be nice to have a party...’

‘Yes, it would. Except shop is open until five, as usual, so there wouldn’t be long to get ready for it, or shop for it, or clean for it, and who do you want to ask to a party anyway?’

‘Oh... Steph... Craig and his mum... Ray and Reggie...’

‘Who?’

‘Gerbil-minders.’

‘Ah. And everyone else you need to apologise to, I suppose, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Blake said. ‘All the owners of all the sofas I used before you took me in.’

‘And you’ll invite Jeff too, of course. He introduced us.’

‘You know, I’m not really sure about Jeff. I mean, he’s a sweet person and all that, but he’s a bit young, isn’t he?’

‘And Craig isn’t?’

‘Not if he’s with his mum.’

‘Ask Jeff’s mum too, then.’

‘Can I? Can I really? So we can do it, we can have a party?’

‘Oh, fuck, what have I let myself in for? If they spill red wine on the carpets...’

‘I just won’t buy red wine, then.’

‘I still don’t know what’s wrong with Jeff coming...?’

‘He’s very... very flirty, I’ve noticed. And the other night, after the meeting, he was very clingy... he’s probably not over the shock of nearly being run down yet...’

‘Well, it might be better to wait until just after Christmas, anyway. Shop’s closed Monday, I’m going to open later – from ten instead of nine – in the week to New Year, so if I have one late night it won’t kill me. And people will find it easier to get about, too. But don’t be upset if Craig and his mum can’t make it, they might still have things to sort out...’

‘But wouldn’t it be perfect? His mum can see how nice your friends are and it would reassure her...’

‘Oh, I can ask my friends too, can I? Kind of you. But that’s why asking Jeff would be a good idea; he’s happy, and more-or-less together, he’s young enough for Craig and his mum to identify with... No, I don’t mind, I like a good party.’

‘Could we do fancy dress...? I’ve heard a lot about it, I think it would be fun to actually see one...’

Gethin grinned. ‘Good idea. Shall we theme it? Let me see... angels and demons? You can get your wings out then...’

‘Lovely thought, but better not. Even mentioning the other side is considered bad form...’

Really...?

‘Okay, then. Any ideas?’

‘Do you think we could have something to do with the Nativity? It would be in keeping with the season, not too difficult to organise some of the costumes, at least...’

‘Shepherds and kings and angels, yes, shouldn’t be too hard. Though where we’ll find a virgin from round here... and don’t expect everyone to take it seriously, religiously, okay?’

Blake grinned. ‘You do mean it, don’t you? You do know it’ll break my heart if now you say you were joking...’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, no sense of humour, that’s me. So they tell me.’

‘I’ll come as a shepherd, I think...’

Gethin laughed. ‘With those bloody gorgeous wings of yours?’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be fancy dress if I came as I am...’

‘True. And you might get into bother if anyone found out. All right, I’ll come as an angel, if you like. You can be technical advisor.’ He couldn’t help smiling at Blake’s expression of delight. ‘You’re doing everything, mind, all the organising, and the washing up after.’

‘Yes, yes, anything!’

‘More the sort of gaiety you thought you’d be helping with, yes?’

‘Well, maybe. Not that I mind, especially not now I know...’

‘Time for work,’ Gethin said, pushing away his plate. ‘Thanks for breakfast, really, thanks.’

‘Thank you for the party.’

‘As long as...’

‘...I clear up afterwards. I say, Gethin?’

‘What?’

‘Well, if we’re having a party, and it’s over Christmas, don’t you think people will expect to see a Christmas tree?’

Gethin hid a grin.

‘They can look in the shop window, then, can’t they, on the way in?’

*

Busy again, which was good, and bad, in the shop, Blake appearing and disappearing at odd intervals, dragging Steph off up to the flat (‘Gethin said I could ask you to help with my Christmas display and you don’t officially start for half an hour yet, do you, Steph...?’), reappearing with coffee and biscuits at half ten (‘Just popping out to the shops to get something for lunch and look at things for the party...’) and returning with bags suspended all along his arms an hour later (‘Let me take these up to the flat, then I’ll be down to help...’) and generally making the morning seem a lot more pleasant with the distractions of his antics.

‘Thanks for helping him, Steph,’ Gethin said quietly after the angel had disappeared singing ‘Rocking around the Christmas Tree, Well, I Would If We Had One...’

‘Mad, your friend,’ Steph said, shaking her head and grinning. ‘Bonkers. Good laugh, mind.’

She gave Gethin a sideways look. ‘Got his heart set on a Christmas tree.’

‘No idea why,’ Gethin said. ‘It’s just another socio-normative imposition masquerading as tradition to make us spend money on non-essentials when there are people starving on the streets...’

‘Well, I might have been one of them, but for your Jonathan helping me out. And a bit of sparkle can make you feel better, I don’t know why it matters to him either, he’s your friend.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, he’s my friend too, when you think about it. So why can’t our friend have a Christmas tree?’

‘Because he’s already got a Christmas display and there’s a tree in the shop window.’

‘Oh, oh, I see, makes perfect sense, that does. He won’t give up, you know.’

Gethin sighed.

‘I know. Listen, would you like a few extra hours on Christmas Eve? In the afternoon, it usually slows down around half two, I could do with a bit of time to nip out. That’s if you think you could manage for an hour on your own, or with Blake helping?’

‘Er... yeah, yes, sure.’ She paused for a minute. ‘Thanks, Gethin. For letting Jonathan ask me for Christmas dinner. It’s going to be awful in the hostel, and...’

‘Um... you’re welcome, Steph...’

‘You did you know Blake asked me for Christmas dinner ?’

Gethin hadn’t even known they were going to do Christmas dinner, never mind have guests...

‘Of course,’ he said, too quickly. ‘Looking forward to it.’

‘So you didn’t know?’ Steph stifled a sigh. ‘Sorry, I think he was just trying to be nice. It doesn’t matter, I...’

‘Look, if you’d said you’d no plans, I’d have asked you myself anyway,’ he said, which he hoped was right. ‘You’re welcome, really. Just make sure Blake knows what you can eat and what you don’t like.’

* 

For the rest of the day Gethin kept his thoughts to himself, trying not to mind, because, really, Blake was just being Blake, but helping people was one thing and forgetting he was a guest was another, and there were other things to think about, such as a shop full of customers, so it wasn’t until after Steph was gone and the Closed sign was up that he tackled his houseguest. 

‘Blake, can I have a word?’ he said, heading for to the back room which was sort of neutral ground. ‘Come through.’

‘Yes, of course... ah, oh my, what have I done? I’ve done something, haven’t I? Was it that man I thought was a lady, did he complain? Because I really thought I was helping, and...’

‘No, it wasn’t Bernice, I think you were a hit, actually. No, it’s about Steph...’

‘Steph? Steph is a lady, not that she’d thank me for saying it, very graceful...’

And now it came to it, Gethin felt awful mentioning it, bringing it up at all, but...

‘I didn’t know there was going to be a Christmas dinner. And I didn’t know you’d asked her. She thanked me. Bit awkward.’

‘Oh, my, I’m sure it must have been... well, I’m planning on doing everything so don’t you worry about a thing...’

‘I’m not worried, exactly...’

‘Oh, that’s a relief!’

‘More surprised. Wasn’t going to bother; it’s always seemed a waste, to me, overindulging while people starve...’

‘That’s why I invited Steph, she won’t have anywhere else to go. Her hostel only does breakfast at Christmas. So you see, it wouldn’t be a waste, it would be helping Steph to have a proper meal.’

‘Helping Steph?’

‘Yes, that’s it... should I have asked first? I never thought about asking first, only she was helping with my display, and went a bit quiet, and you know Steph well enough by now to know quiet either means she’s planning something terrible or she’s upset... and I got a bit carried away by all the tinsel, making me feel a bit fuzzy and things, and so I asked her to come to us for Christmas.’

‘Right. Okay, I suppose. I already told her it was all right...’

‘Oh, thank you, Gethin!’

‘But you got to think a bit more – how’s she going to get here, no buses? How’s she going to get home after? I don’t suppose you’ll be dropping her off, so to speak, will you?’

‘I... er, no, no. Taxis, I’ve got an expense fund, I’ll pay taxis for her.’ Blake visibly gulped, his brown eyes anxious. ‘Is that okay? Are... are you okay about this? Haven’t messed up again, have I?’

Was he being too hard on Blake? Suddenly, it felt like it. It felt like he was parent to the oldest teenager in the world... Gethin shook his head.

‘Sorry, Blake. No, it’s all right, I’m just a bit stressed, didn’t mean to take it out on you, sorry. That’s fine, do whatever you think you need to do. Only try and tell me first next time.’

‘I will, Gethin, I promise. I say, Gethin?’

What now, what the fuck now???

‘Yes, Blake?’

The angel paused for a moment, his eyes innocent, his mouth twitching.

‘I think I need to do a Christmas tree in the flat, I...’ he broke off, unable to keep his face serious.

Gethin burst out laughing and Blake shrugged.

‘Well, it was worth a try. Come on, you need a sit down and a nice cup of tea, then I’ll make supper, how does that sound?’

‘Sounds like we’re friends again.’

‘Yes, friends. We weren’t not-friends, though. Just... you were explaining human stuff to me; I sometimes don’t get it.’

*

The Lesbians Aloud Choral Singers’ extra rehearsal was scheduled for seven and they began arriving from around quarter to. Gethin had the room prepped, the biscuits replenished, and Blake was hovering near the piano as they came in and began taking off coats and gloves.

‘I say,’ he began. ‘Don’t suppose you need someone to play for you tonight, ladies?’ 

Gethin waited for the outraged we-can-manage which usually followed his offers of assistance, but to his surprise, the lead soprano nodded.

‘That’d be nice, ta.’

‘Lovely! Oh, do you know this one...?’

Blake seated himself at the upright and played up and down the scales before launching into Der Tannenbaum and joining in with the lyrics in a rich tenor as Gethin made himself scarce, grinning.

_‘O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches...’_

The song followed Gethin up to the flat. It didn’t quite drown out the television, but the words kept going round his head, insinuating their way into his mind, bringing guilt along with it. This was silly, his flat, his rules, he was doing Blake the favour, after all... the angel had his own display in his own room, didn’t he? And a proper Christmas dinner, a party a few days after? What more was Gethin supposed to do? Could he not make a stand over one little thing of his own?

He determined to put it out of his mind and not let it get in the way of his friendship with Blake as he went back down to wave the choral society off and lock up after them. Blake was already busy with the washing up and he found a tea towel and began drying the cups.

‘They were nice,’ Blake said. ‘Very singy.’

Gethin grinned.

‘Yes, choral society, they tend to be. Didn’t invite them to the party, did you?’

‘No, I... should I have?’

‘Probably not. I was joking.’

‘It’s hard for me, you know,’ Blake said. ‘I’m not complaining, it’s just, I’m not used to it. People saying what they don’t mean. And then saying what they do as if they don’t, it’s very confusing. Roscoe said I’d get the hang of it, but sometimes I don’t always. And then I have this little niggling thing in my head saying, this is something you have to do, help this person, do this, be here, go there...’ He washed the last plate, emptied the bowl, watched the water drain. ‘And I’m not looking for sympathy, no, just saying... apologising, really...’

‘You don’t have to,’ Gethin said. ‘Apologise, that is. I know you’re... different, I just... you look so bloody human, you fit in so well, I forget.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Now leave that, come on, think we deserve a drink after that.’

Gethin found a couple of bottles of lager in the fridge and settled down to watch the news on TV, Blake sharing the sofa in friendly companionship. An item came on, an appeal from one of the animal charities about responsible pet ownership and finishing with the tagline ‘A Dog is For Life Not Just For Christmas.’

‘Gethin...’

Gethin took a good pull at his lager so he didn’t sigh.

‘We can’t have a puppy, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Oh, no, hadn’t occurred to me, actually. Why, would you like a puppy?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Because, really, you’d be better off with a Christmas tree, they are just for Christmas. And the early New Year, branching across the old and the new years and... why are you laughing?’


	10. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin goes shopping, and when Christmas Eve arrives, Blake makes mince pies...

Jonathan had gone out, though whether he had another helping job in store, or was just going to look for supplies for Christmas and the party after, Gethin wasn’t sure.

Didn’t ask, either; it was simpler not to.

A plan was forming in the quiet backwaters of his mind where he hoped Jonathan’s angelic sensitivities wouldn’t pick up on it. It was complicated, daft, and went utterly against his principles but at the same time, he thought it might be fun if it worked out.

Parts of his idea would need specialist input, however, and in a quiet moment he turned to Steph.

‘Don’t suppose you can knit, can you?’

‘Hmm,’ Steph began, ‘let me think a bit before I answer... You’re my boss, am I allowed to tell you to fuck off?’

‘Course you are,’ Gethin said, ‘once, that is.’

Steph grinned to herself.

‘Sorry. Still can’t help you, though.’

‘And it wasn’t because you’re female I asked, it’s because you’re the only person I can ask...’

‘You can’t ask your friend?’

‘No.’ Gethin clamped down on the word.

‘So is it for Jonathan, then, this knitting? What is it, a surprise?’

‘I’ll do something else, don’t worry.’

‘Oh, what? Go on, tell me?’

‘Secret,’ he said. ‘Now, pass me the post, I’ll have a look through while we’re quiet.’

Advertising flyers, a couple of Christmas cards from suppliers (because nobody who really knew him would send one, would they?) and a good-quality envelope, nicely typed, from one of the upmarket bookshops. 

Puzzled, he opened that one first.

He read it through, stared at it, and swore softly. 

‘Doesn’t look like a bill,’ Steph remarked. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just asking for a reference for Tracey.’

‘Who’s Tracey?’ 

‘My official assistant who’s officially off sick with ‘flu...’ 

‘Was she any good?’

Gethin shrugged, nodded.

‘Yeah, she was okay, actually. Punctual, polite to customers, could do the job... Straight, though, she did say she’d be looking to move on. Thought she’d settled in, though. Customers seemed to like her...’

‘So, give her a glowing reference and let me have her job, then, everyone’s happy.’

‘Could do, I suppose... lunch cover through the week, all day Saturday... might not suit you, though...’

‘I can learn to knit, honest, Gethin, how hard can it be...?’

He shook his head, grinning.

‘Okay. She’s happy, you’re happy, Blake’ll be happy... we’ll see how we go, shall we?’

‘Honest? Wow, I’d hug you, if I thought either of us would like it! But thanks, Gethin, honest, you’ve no idea what it means...’

‘It’s only going to be seventeen hours a week, don’t go mad...’

*

Don’t go mad, Gethin thought to himself as he left Steph in charge for an hour and dashed out, round the corner to where the more usual retail units were, his stupid, mad idea, daft, against all his principles, but...

But.

But Blake was just so...

Impossible. Gorgeous. Impossibly gorgeous, with wonderful hands and a trust in the world around him that was really quite scary, when you thought about it. Sleeping on random sofas, not knowing anything about the owners except that they were different, gay, and when you were straight, and you were new in town, how scary must that be...?

A flash of memory, Blake in the doorway tossing a tinsel scarf over his shoulder (‘I’m not straight, I’m just... not gay. It’s different...’)

...whatever. Gethin needed, suddenly, to do something to make him feel welcome, wanted, needed. It didn’t have to be big, it didn’t have to be flash, it just had to be right for Blake.

Post Office for random bits and pieces, important to his plan. A small branch of Woolworth’s for a couple of things, and he got what he wanted... almost six quid on one of the items, he thought, paying with two fivers and getting not much change, reeling, six quid on a throwaway thing just because he thought Blake would like it, and to think he’d just walked past something in a second-hand shop he thought the angel would like... don’t go mad? Too late.

Outside he found a phone box and called the shop to ask Steph if Blake was back yet. No answer, which told its own story; had Blake been there, someone would have answered the phone, surely?

Everything hidden in bags, he snuck in and up to the flat, to his bedroom, hiding his furtive purchases in the wardrobe and dashing back down again to rejoin Steph in the shop.

‘Phone rang earlier,’ she told him. ‘Just the once, but you said, the customer in front of you is more important than the phone, it could be a wrong number.’

‘Yes. Or your boss ringing to find out if Blake’s back yet.’

‘Oh, right. No, he’s not, or if so, he didn’t come and say hiya first. Are you up to something?’

‘Never you mind, been busy, has it?’

‘You are, aren’t you? Is it a Christmas tree, have you got a tree for Jonathan?’

Gethin nodded towards the window.

‘There’s the tree, there. Right, going to put the kettle on, you can have a cup of tea before you go. All right?’

*

Closing time, and no Blake. Gethin frowned to himself, trying not to admit he was worried. He sorted out something to eat, making sure there was enough left for Blake, should the angel arrive home hungry.

No group tonight, this near Christmas, so nothing to break the monotony of an evening alone. It would have been the perfect night to spend with Blake, talking through more of his mementoes, hearing about his past escapades. Or just sitting, watching TV, drinking beer.

It was odd, though, Gethin thought, switching on the TV for the 10 o’clock news. There’d been evenings without meetings, before, and they’d never dragged. Sometimes he’d gone out, of course, but it hadn’t occurred to him tonight.

Finally, just as Gethin was switching things off for the night, he heard the bang of the downstairs door and footsteps on the stairs, the key in the lock.

‘Blake, you okay?’ he called out.

‘Yes, fine.’ Blake locked up after himself, hung up his coat and beret on the hooks. ‘Work. This time of year, people drink too much, get all aggravated... I’ve stopped three brawls and two fistfights tonight. I have also drunk far too much beer and then had to report up... fortunately, I could still fly in a straight line, just about... funny, alcohol shouldn’t bother me. Unless it’s because I’m in human form so much lately, I’m processing things more humanly, too, noticing things differently... never realised until now you’ve got lovely eyes, haven’t you?’

‘Um... you want a cup of tea?’

‘Oh, lovely, yes please... shouldn’t I have said? Sorry, I thought humans like to be told things like that?’

Gethin put the kettle on, hugging the compliment to himself.

‘Well, yes, bit of a surprise, that’s all, since you’re not gay, and you’ve got the angel thing going on, wasn’t expecting you to notice...’

‘How could anyone not? Oh, cup of tea, lovely!’ Blake dropped onto the sofa as if he’d been on his feet all day. ‘Thank you. Don’t suppose there’s any bisc...’

Gethin handed him the custard creams, grinning.

‘Help yourself. Listen, I need to go to bed, busy day tomorrow. Put the light out when you come up, will you?’

‘Of course I will. I say, Gethin?’

‘Yes, Blake?’

‘I expect I’ll be out a bit tomorrow myself. Thank you for the tea. Goodnight.’

*

Christmas Eve and Gethin hit the ground running. Steph was early, hanging up her coat and getting stuck in at once (which Tracey would never have done), speeding up the processing of the queue considerably. Blake appeared with tea, and coffee, and his coat on.

‘Half ten already?’ Gethin asked.

‘Quarter past; it’s early I know, but I have a bus to catch.’

‘Thanks. Mind how you go, then.’

Blake arrived back just shy of two o’clock, bouncing, happy, dashing off up to the flat to return with a plate of sandwiches and mugs of tea and coffee on a tray.

‘I’ve had a wonderful morning,’ he said. ‘There was a lovely young man on the bus, I asked him for directions, but he was new to London. From Accrington, he said, that’s in the North, isn’t it, Steph?’

‘Er... yeah, but so are lots of places...’

‘Yes, well, while we were chatting another young fellow came up and gave me directions, so my friend from Accrington, you’d like him, he wears glasses that are far too old for him and a silly hat, but never mind – he asked for directions, too, and so they went off together, hit it off straight away... I do like it when things work out, don’t you?’ Blake paused to drink his tea and lift a couple of sandwiches. ‘Right, I’m going up to make some mince pies. Call me if you get too busy!’

‘Mince pies?’ Steph asked when Blake had gone.

‘He cooks,’ Gethin said. ‘He’s a great cook, he’s doing the dinner tomorrow. Seems he can bake as well.’

‘Lucky you. Lucky us.’

And if, when the mince pies arrived, they were decorated with icing sugar Christmas tree silhouettes, that didn’t spoil the flavour one bit. Even though the sight did make Steph snort with laughter.

*

Steph stayed until four, by which time the shop was quietening down. Blake browsed the shelves, rocking on his feet, hands in his pockets, and it felt as if it was time to close.

‘Don’t suppose you could mind the shop for me for a bit, could you?’ Gethin asked. ‘Need to nip out for half an hour.’

‘No, not at all,’ Blake said, coming to the stool behind the till. ‘I say, you’re not going out to buy a Christmas tree, are you?’

Gethin gave Blake what he hoped was a basilisk glare.

‘I am not going out to get a Christmas tree, Blake,’ he said. ‘We’ve got one. Won’t be long.’

Nor was he. There was a junk shop in the next street where he’d seen something yesterday but not had hands enough to carry it... it was an old and tatty thing anyway, and so he’d been pondering whether it was worth the hassle of cleaning it up or not. Suddenly it seemed like a good idea, and now, of course, he was panicked in case it had gone...

Couldn’t be spending a lot of money anyway, not after yesterday’s spend which was, really, frittered on a whim... and he might be making too much work for himself but if he did it right, properly...

It was still there, a battered looking thing he got for pennies, in the finish, a cupboard with a shelf across and a mesh front; a meat safe, that’s what it was, he remembered there’d been one at home, growing up... this was different, of course, but the principle was the same, you could put food in there to keep cool, the mesh so fine nothing could get inside. He carted it off home and put it, with yesterday’s purchases, in his now-overstuffed wardrobe and went down to the shop.

‘Missed me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, if you want to go up to the flat, I’ll sort things out down here.’

‘Thanks, that’s kind of you. But I’ll stay and help lock up.’

They could have closed early; from quarter to five they were the only ones in the shop. But it didn’t matter, takings had been good, the shop had been doing proper, busy business for the last few weeks and really, Gethin thought, looking around, it had been a good month.

Time to turn the open sign round, to check the till and switch off the lights and go up to the flat. Closed for Christmas.

*

‘Something light for supper,’ Blake said, serving omelettes and salad. ‘Not too heavy, if you want a drink later, not too stodgy. I have to go out for an hour or so, that yo-yo place again...’

‘Trouble?’

‘No, no... my friends from the bus stop, well, the one who came over to give us both directions, he talked about it, and I sort of have that feeling again, make sure everything’s okay, you know... if you like, you could come with me...?’

‘Thanks, but I’ll give it a miss, I think... got a few things to do tonight.’

‘Oh?’ Blake brightened for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose...? No. No, it’s not that, I know...’

‘Actually, I’ve got something I need to finish, but what did you think it might be?’

‘It’s not, I know... but I thought... as the shop’s shut, you might have been thinking of bringing the Christmas tree from the shop upstairs? So it isn’t lonely?’

Gethin choked back a laugh.

‘No, hadn’t crossed my mind. We’ll leave it where it is, I think.’

‘Oh. Oh, all right. Only I could help, if...’

‘The tree’s fine in the window,’ Gethin said and, unable to bear the look of disappointment in Blake’s tragic brown eyes, looked down to spear the last bit of salad from his plate. ‘Listen, got something I need a bit of help with, if you’ve time... not tonight, you’ve said, you’re busy, but... another time, if it’s quiet next week, perhaps?’

‘Yes, I’d like that. Helping you. My job, helping, anyway.’

Blake’s expression had changed from tragic-at-the-thought-of-the-lonely-shop-tree to curious, and Gethin pressed on, determined to try and lift Blake’s spirits, suddenly sure this was the right thing, the right way...

‘Only I thought you might like a look at it first, before you go out. I’ll get it, shall I? Won’t take long.’

He returned with his prize hidden inside a big black bin bag. Blake had cleared the table, providing a useful space for Gethin to set down his burden and nod to the angel.

‘Go on, then. Have a look.’

‘This is exciting... and a bit odd, Gethin, what’s going on? I’m having one of those twitchy feelings...’

‘Maybe it means this is right,’ Gethin said. ‘Maybe it means we need to work on it together.’

He gestured towards the bag, for Blake to fold away the black plastic.

‘It’s...’

‘It’s a project,’ Gethin said, helping release the meat safe from the bag. ‘Used to be for keeping food safe, but I thought, a scrub up, strip it down, paint it up... keep your mementoes safe...’

‘It’s for my things?’

‘Yeah. Better than that old box. Unless that’s one of your mementoes, too?’

Blake smiled, then grinned as he shook his head.

‘No, it’s just a box, they don’t last long, cardboard boxes, do they? This is... for me?’

‘Yes.’

Blake peered into the cupboard, opened its door, touched the shelf where it was covered with worn and scarred blue-check-and-yellow-floral Fablon. 

‘For Christmas?’

‘No.’ Gethin shook his head. ‘I don’t go in for that, it’s just a thing I saw, thought we could tidy it up for your stuff. And anyway, if I was going to do anything for Christmas for you, I know what you want...’

The angel looked at him over the top of the cabinet.

‘What about you, Gethin? Wish I knew what you wanted.’

Him. Gethin wanted him, Blake, wanted... but it wasn’t going to happen. Angel. Not gay. Probably not going to be around for long, either, he seemed to move from job to job a bit, pity, that. And... Blake could read minds, it seemed, sometimes, not this time, please not this...

‘Oh...’ Gethin shrugged, looked down, covered his thoughts with words. ‘World peace, end to poverty and easier import laws for starters...’

Blake gave a laughing smile.

‘I’ll get started on that lot right away, then,’ he said. ‘And... thank you for this. Very thoughtful of you... thing is, I need to get moving now and it doesn’t seem right just to... to leave you in, on your own, Christmas Eve...’

‘Why don’t you take your cupboard up to your room and get ready?’ Gethin said. ‘never mind me, I’ll be fine, I will, but you watch yourself, out alone on Christmas eve in Stripy Yo-Yo. Someone might make a pass at you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so... but, yes, I’ll be careful. And I won’t be late back.’


	11. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin works on a project...

Blake had left around half eight, the front door banging, Gethin watching from the window as the angel moved off down the road, the tinsel under the black beret glittering in the light from the street lamps.

Privacy to work in, great.

As almost everything was stored in his bedroom, that’s where Gethin started, pulling his yesterday’s acquisitions out from the wardrobe and clearing off the little side table to work on. 

Pity he hadn’t known anyone who could knit, but what he wanted knitting he managed to make from paper instead, paper and pipe-cleaners and sticky tape, although it took a lot of drawing and cutting and colouring to get right. Then he had to work out a way to attach his craft project to his expensive purchase of the day before, once that had been suitably adapted...

At first he felt slightly absurd, a grown man doing stuff like this, just because it might make someone who wasn’t gay smile, feel special. Wasn’t even sure if Blake’d get the reference, then he’d have to explain, and that might be hard, difficult to put it into words... 

Well, if all else failed he could claim to have had the human equivalent of one of Blakes ‘twitchy’ sensations, claim it as a human thing, or a Welsh thing...

It was done, though, sorted but for the final assembly and it didn’t look too bad, it would work, at least. Should look okay when the rest of Blake’s surprise was finished. With a bit of luck, it’d be ready by the time he got in from his evenings’ angelling...

Next, Gethin ripped open the pack of gift tags he’d bought. They were a mixture of shiny gold, and red, and green card, the sort you had to thread string through. Inside each one, he wrote a word, a name, sometimes just an initial, threading through the string and tying it at the top to make long loops. 

He was part-way through – all the tags written, half of them threaded – when he thought he heard the outer door opening. A glance at the clock told him it was after eleven, much later than he’d realised, and he hadn’t even washed the dishes, and now Blake was back, the project not finished...

Ah, well. He’d just have to surprise him with it tomorrow instead.

He left everything where it was and hurried downstairs, remembering to close the bedroom door after him, and began running the hot tap in the hopes that he could at least get the plates washed before Blake came in, didn’t want him thinking Gethin hadn’t been doing anything all evening...

The flat door opening. Gethin paused to dry his hands, put the kettle on, wandered through.

‘Hi. Good night?’

It certainly looked like it. Blake was smiling broadly, swaying just a little as he began to take off his ratty raincoat, now decorated liberally with strands of pink and green Silly String. The same bright strings graced his beret here and there and Gethin shook his head, smiling, even though it was going to make a mess on the carpet...

‘I say, Gethin, are we on board a ship?’

‘Not last time I looked, no. Sit down, I’ll make you some coffee. What have you been drinking? Did you bring any home?’

Gethin made sure his tone was amused, interested; nothing wrong with getting plastered, Christmas Eve, but now, of course, he was wishing he’d accepted Blake’s invitation to join him...

‘Gin,’ Blake said, lengthening the initial consonant as if he struggled to say it. ‘Bloody funny stuff, I thought, looks just like water, what harm can there be? An’... and now everything is dancing...’

‘Yeah, well, basic rule of thumb, the smaller the measure, the more potent the drink.’ Gethin brought coffee for Blake, tea for himself and sat opposite Blake in the chair. ‘Looks like you had fun?’

‘Oh, it was a good night. They said, they all said, it’s a great night... all with their friends, and...’ Blake broke off with a sigh. ‘We angels, don’t have friends, not really. We just have jobs. And, when we’re not working, sort of... just there. Waiting to be useful. Only really get to talk to each other, properly talk, in phalanx. And I’m not in one.’

‘It sounds, I dunno, sort of... lonely. No-one to talk to.’

‘Suppose it is.’ Blake sighed. ‘Course, I’ve not been doing this long. Might be different, part of a phalanx. They talk at me, all right. Do this, do that, don’t do it that way, Blake, not again, Blake... but...’

‘Drink your coffee,’ Gethin said softly. ‘You’ll feel better.’

‘Will I? Will I really?’

‘That’s the thing with gin. Used to make my Aunty Glenys very maudlin. You’re better off with vodka, really. So, how was the night, then? You were checking up on your new friend from the bus stop?’

‘Mmm? Oh, yes. Mike. An’ his new friend Mark. Opinion on ever’thing, that young man... They’re all right. Fine, fine. Coming to the party.’ Blake drank from his mug, stared at the coffee. ‘I say, Gethin? Something wrong with the kettle, this tea tastes bloody awful...’

‘I’ll make you a fresh one,’ Gethin said. ‘And then you can take it upstairs, go to bed. You promised me and Steph a Christmas dinner, remember? It won’t cook itself.’

Blake lumbered up from his seat and came into the kitchen to drape an arm around Gethin’s shoulders, warm and companionable and rather heavy.

‘Are you... are you trying to get rid of me?’

‘No.’ Gethin turned to find Blake’s age-old, ageless eyes locked on his, so very, very close... ‘Far from it. Stay up as long as you like. Stay here as long as you like, Blake, I...’

Blake blinked drunkenly, moved his head back to focus, and the spell, and whatever Gethin had been about to say (and he was terrified it would have been something stupid) was lost.

‘Fuck me, Gethin, how did I here?’ the angel said, as if he’d no recollection of leaving the living room.

‘Perhaps you realised you need help up the stairs. Come on.’ Gethin made use of Blake’s arm around his shoulder to support him through the living room. ‘That’s it. They say everyone’s got one drink that disagrees with them, one to avoid. Guess yours would be the gin, right?’

‘Gin. Jus’ looked like water...’

‘Yes, come on, up the stairs... take it slow, it’s not a race, right?’

At the top of the flight he disentangled himself from Blake’s arm and gently steered him to lean his shoulders against the wall next to the door of the guest room.

‘I’ll bring you that tea in a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ll just make sure we’re locked up, okay?’

*

Three in the morning and Gethin’s radio alarm penetrated his dreams. He sat up and switched it off hurriedly, yawning and bewildered for a moment...

Yes, he remembered...

Taking Blake a cup of tea, finding the angel had already gone to bed, knocking on the door and calling goodnight, leaving the mug outside. The mug had been gone by the time he’d finished with the bathroom, though. Deciding that the best way to surprise Blake with the project was to have it ready when Blake got up, installed downstairs and waiting... it had seemed like a good idea to set an alarm, make sure Blake was asleep, get a bit of kip himself...

Didn’t seem such a good idea now, though. He could have waited for morning, shut Blake in the kitchen and requested him not to come out until it was done... but, well, he was awake now and it was only tying a few knots and putting things together...

He gathered everything he needed into a bag, got the big box from the wardrobe and went down to set up in the living room; it’d be easier to work there, and he hadn’t quite decided where the best place for the finished article would be...

Maybe not in here, he’d have to look at it all the time, and he didn’t think he wanted to have to, it was going to be rubbish anyway, on a budget, it wasn’t going to match the mental picture he had of it, he was sure, nor would Blake’s delight match up to what he hoped. 

On the landing, then, but it wasn’t going to be easy to move, when it was finished, so he’d have to work out there, after all, and he couldn’t risk putting on the light in case it disturbed Blake, so he left the living room door open and managed with the light from there... and it was cold, he hadn’t bothered with a dressing gown, they were for when you were ill, he was only wearing pyjama bottoms.

Best get a move on, then. If it was going to be rubbish, it would be rubbish, however long he spent on it.

He opened the box in the living room to avoid rustling noises from the bag, laid everything out in the doorway , set up the stand, put the bits together, carried the contents of the box out and found it fitted on the table near the phone, just, as if it was the perfect place.

He began assembling and tidying and straightening and cursing under his breath as rough points and edges stabbed at his hands and bare forearms; he should have known better than to buy a cheap artificial thing, mind you, the real thing would have been even sharper... 

Still, soon he had the mock-branches sorted, the mock-berries (red plastic things) fitted over the sharp ends of the wires, and began hanging on the previously-written gift tags. With no confidence in his artistic abilities whatsoever, he just tried to make sure they were fairly evenly spread amongst the branches, finally turning to the most expensive item of all and finishing it ready for its place of honour. 

And even though it was silly, daft, it looked kitsch and a bit mad, at the same time, he was proud of this, proud of thinking of it... 

Because when you’ve finally decided to give in, and have a daft sodding Christmas tree in your flat, and you’ve done it to please a bloody gorgeous not-gay angel, what are you going to top it with? Not a star, obviously. Not a fairy, had to be an angel, didn’t it? But for some reason, Christmas angels were all golden-haired girls in white frocks with white feathers, not a bit like the real version.

So Gethin had decided to make his own, proper, authentic angel, or as authentic as he could, and his starting point was a blond Action Man.

This year’s model had disconcerting ‘Eagle Eyes’ that moved from side to side, and ‘Gripping Hands’ that were even more alarming, but it came in a range of hair colours and was supplied in a uniform that included a beret. Strip off the jumper, tie on a pair of paper wings (because nobody Gethin knew could knit), coloured like jay’s plumage in beige and blue-black, with black and white flight feathers and fit them in place with a shoelace harness and there you were...

Actually, he thought, arranging the Action Angel in a suitably angelic pose, it didn’t look that bad. The hair was painted plastic army-issue crop, too short, of course, and he thought the eyes might be blue, not brown like Blake’s, but that aside... 

Only he’d seen Blake shirtless, and he definitely had the better physique...

Suddenly, light flooded the landing, a switch clicking on. Gethin swore, bringing his arm up in front of his eyes, blinking until he adjusted to the brightness and found Blake halfway down the stairs, staring at him.

Gethin stared back, oh, bloody hell, not a stitch on him for fuck’s sake, lifted his eyes to Blake’s face and gulped.

‘Surprise,’ he said with a shrug as Blake landed at the foot of the stairs.

‘Gethin...?’

‘You wanted a Christmas tree. And...’ 

He broke off, gestured with the hand that still held the Action Angel. 

‘For me?’ Blake reached out and touched one of the gift tags, his face splitting into a delighted grin. ‘What...?’

‘Names of the people you said you’d helped. Mabel, Toby. Where it’s people who come here, it’s initials, so ‘S’ is Steph...’

‘And ‘G’? Who’s...?’

‘Me, of course, you help me. Just being here, just cooking, company, you said about being lonely before, and I know what that feels like, so you being here and just... just... being so bloody annoying about Christmas trees...’

‘And what’s that in your hands?’

Gethin handed the Action Angel over and Blake turned it carefully in his hands.

‘Fuck me, it’s brilliant... my wings, and everything, you got my wings right! He’s exactly like me...’

‘Yes. Got a few more clothes on, though.’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry about that. Going out, you see.’

‘Like that?’

‘Well, where I’m going, it’s easier without clothes. You have to stop and leave them somewhere safe and remember to collect them on your way back... Gethin, this is lovely of you, so kind...’ 

Blake reached across impulsively to hug Gethin close, the Action Angel hard against his bare shoulder, something else hard elsewhere... Gethin hugged back, but moved his hips away to hide his inappropriate reaction, couldn’t help notice Blake was affected, too. 

‘Funny, isn’t it? Wonder why our bodies do that?’ the angel said, not noticing the shocked surprise on Gethin’s face. ‘This is so kind, though... I’ve got some tinsel upstairs, shall we... when I get back, shall we finish decorating it together?’

Gethin nodded, smiled, still reeling from the shock of contact.

‘Yes, that’d be great.’

Blake sat the Action Angel on the edge of the table under the tree and went to the window, sliding it up.

‘I really do have to go out tonight... something I need to find out, it’s quite urgent. Or else I’d stay... but it shouldn’t take long.’

He climbed out through the window, sat on the ledge with his back to it for a moment and then just dropped. Gethin found his heart in his mouth as he rushed to see, was in time to see the beating of the amazing wings as Blake swooped up from the drop and twisted in the air, waving casually as a golden sheen drifted across his body and he was climbing up into the sky to disappear from sight seconds later.

‘Yes, hurry back, Blake,’ Gethin murmured, lowering, but not closing the window. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about.’


	12. Tinsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake returns...

Gethin stood staring until long after he could possibly have been able to see Blake’s winged shape lifting into the sky, staring and thinking and trying not to think, and now the angel was gone, was it permissible to allow himself to look at the memory of Blake coming down the stairs, a sprinkle of brightness around his head that was caused by the light glittering in his tinsel headgear...?

He hoped so, hoped it wasn’t breaking some kind of arcane law, but the image was burned into him.

Then again, so was Blake’s delighted expression when he realised it was all – the tree, the Action Angel, the bright gift tags – all for him, all about him.

Nice to see Blake really smile, to know it was his own doing.

Gethin found his own face lifting at the thought as he shivered in the draught from the open window. It was late, so late it was almost early, and who knew how long Blake would be out? And Gethin was going to be knackered tomorrow, after this. Most years it wouldn’t matter, most years there had been no need to be up, no guests coming, no big, elaborate dinner to cook, none of the fuss... this year, there would be Steph... and Blake too, of course, who was allegedly going to do everything... but Gethin needed more than the couple of hours sleep he’d already managed if he was going to get through the day with some semblance of normality.

Normality. Yes, just what was that...?

He fetched his in-case-of-illness dressing gown and hooked it on a hanger over the edge of the curtain pole where Blake would be able to grab it when he landed, and then went to bed, leaving the door open so he’d hear when the angel came home.

*

Expecting only to doze, and to stir at the sound of the window closing on the landing, he was surprised when a hand on his shoulder carefully shook him awake.

‘Gethin? I say, Gethin...’

‘Hmf? Blake? What, what’s up?’ he managed, coming awake reluctantly.

‘Brought you some tea. It’s just gone half eight, turkey’s in the oven, veg all peeled and ready, and... well. Merry Christmas. Although we tend to say, happy birthday, you know, when we’re up in the High Heavens...’

Bloody hell, did any of that make sense...?

Cup of tea, yes, he got that bit straight and sat up, trying not to look ugly as he yawned.

‘Christmas tree,’ he remembered out loud. ‘Action Man angel... ‘

‘With jay’s wings, yes.’ Blake nodded and grinned. ‘He’s lovely! We didn’t quite finish decorating, though, I had to go out and talk to someone higher up... mind you, almost everyone’s higher up than me, except Roscoe...’

‘Um... yes, right. Thank you, tea, very welcome.’ 

Gethin reached for the mug, focussing on Blake in the dimness of the bedroom. The angel was wrapped in Gethin’s brown paisley dressing gown which was a much better fit on him and which went well with his honey toned hair and gold tinsel headband, glinting even in the meagre light from the open door and the edges of the curtains.

‘Bit early for tinsel, isn’t it?’

‘How can it ever be too early for tinsel...? Now, Steph’s taxi is booked for eleven, we should expect her around half past, so that’s ages for you to get yourself up and dressed and for us to do the tree...’ Blake paused, allowing the words to settle in the room. ‘But there’s a thing or two we might need to talk about only I don’t know where to start...’

Gethin drank down his tea; that was always a good place to start.

‘You didn’t get into trouble with anyone about anything, did you?’ he asked. ‘I mean, you’re okay?’

‘I didn’t get into trouble, no. I got laughed at a bit...’

‘What?’

Blake sat down at the foot of the bed.

‘Laughed at. I needed to make sense of some of the things that I’ve been... well, saying, I suppose, doing. Feeling, perhaps. Things that aren’t in the instruction book, of course, Christmas Eve, it’s a busy time... Yuri and Mikey were good enough to listen, though...’

‘Yuri and...?’

‘Uriel and Michael. Yuri’s done a lot of work amongst humans, he’s got an odd sense of humour, well, so does Mikey, considering they’re archangels... anyway, Yuri did at least unbend enough to explain but... you know when you get the answer to one question and end up with three more questions...? Well, that.’ Blake sighed. ‘Apparently, it’s all to do with living as a human. Which is fine as far as it goes – I’m still Angel Blake, but the angelic parts are carried deeper, like the wings, and the human camouflage thickens and we end up feeling things in a more human way. So... the thing is, even I could tell it wasn’t how it usually is, I won’t say, normal, you know what I mean...?’

‘Haven’t got a clue,’ Gethin admitted.

‘Well, I don’t know how to put it, exactly, but... Yuri told me what to look for something as proof and... and I think I saw what he meant but I have to ask, Gethin, have I changed at all? Am I any different?’

Gethin shook his head, grinning.

‘You’re just as mad as you were the day you walked in,’ he said. ‘Still wanting to help everyone, trying to understand all the new stuff... unless you count the tinsel, but I’m guessing that’s just you and your Christmas decorating, or the jay coming out.’

‘Tinsel? You said before, but...’

‘You know – going round with silver tinsel under your hat, like you were keeping your halo in place... This morning, it’s gold.’ 

‘Actually, we don’t have halos, we have auras.’ Blake smiled, but shook his head. ‘But, no, I had a tinsel scarf, that’s all...’

‘But... I can see it now, saw it last night... can I...?’

Gethin reached out to remove the tinsel but there was nothing there; his fingers slid through nothing to rest on Blake’s tangled hair.

‘I could have sworn...’

Blake nodded and turned to look into Gethin’s dressing table mirror, peering in and pulling at his hair with his elegant, strong fingers.

‘No tinsel, Gethin. I think... what you’re seeing is my aura; I see it, too. My aura, it’s... it’s gone all sparkly.’

Gethin drew his breath in sharply, knowing what this might mean, not at all sure he knew what it meant...

‘In Yo-yo’s, you said you could tell who was gay by the... sparkly auras...’

Blake nodded.

‘So it looks as if that means I’m gay, too.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you, do you really?’

‘No.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Blake, it’s my fault, it must be...’

‘Well, it could come in useful, really, working in the community, but how can it possibly be your fault?’

‘Last night, you asked me what I wanted, I...’

‘You said, world peace and all that...’

‘But what I thought, was, you, Blake, sorry, I... you, what I wanted.’

‘Me? Why ever would you...? But it can’t be that, it can’t be, Gethin. You see... do you remember, the night we talked and I asked you to hold my hand?’

‘Course I do...’

‘It wasn’t just human contact I wanted, it was your contact, to touch your hand. And I didn’t know why, but... and then I got so cross with Jeff, the way he was all over you the night I stopped him being run over, and I know he was shaken up, and I love everybody, I’m an angel, it’s how I’m made, but I didn’t like him very much for a while...’

‘Wondered why you didn’t want him at your party...’

‘And that time you wanted to touch my wings, when you actually touched my wings, it felt so... and I can still remember, I thought, this is what humans think they mean by if they’d died and gone to heaven and... well, my point being, all this was long before you thought your thoughts last night. So it can’t be your fault.’

‘That’s all right, then. If... if you’re sure?’

Blake nodded. ‘I suppose it explains why I notice your eyes more than I do any other human’s, why that... that thing happened last night when I hugged you, I only meant it as thanks, but...’

‘No need to apologise, if you remember, you had the same effect on me. Suppose you know a bit more now, about why?’

‘Yes, Yuri was delighted to explain. Amidst the laughter, of course. It didn’t help that I’d been expecting to meet them in the energy streams but, no, Yuri’s working on the world at the moment so he and Mikey were dressed and I was stood in a draught in the middle of a car park in somewhere called Birmingham... I bet nobody’s ever made Yuri a Christmas tree angel, though.’

Gethin grinned at Blake’s tone.

‘Are angels allowed to be smug?’

‘They are if they’re as lucky as me, suddenly, after being as unlucky as me.’ Blake smiled and slapped his knees, getting to his feet. ‘I’m going to get dressed, and then start breakfast. After we’ve eaten... could we do the tree?’

‘Of course,’ Gethin said, surprised Blake was willing to walk away when there must be so many things still to say. ‘Can’t have an unfinished Christmas tree, can we?’

‘I can’t wait to see Steph’s face when she sees it, she was saying you’d never give in, you were too principled...’

‘Yes, well, I realised it meant more to you to have one than it did me to not. And I wanted to see you smile.’

‘Well, it certainly has done that.’

With another glorious smile, Blake nodded, and left the room with Gethin about to protest he should come back and finish the conversation properly. After all, the angel had just come out to him, and to himself, apparently. Seemed to accept it happily enough, which was good, better for him, better for them both... but he’d spoken about noticing all these things about Gethin, being interested, and being jealous, and being aroused and he’d had the perfect opportunity to say anything else he wanted and he’d just walked away...?

Maybe it was just too much, too fast, too soon.

As he washed and shaved and dressed, Gethin pondered. There had been all those, why would you, why should you? phrases, all suggesting Blake didn’t think Gethin would be interested in him... granted, that was before he’d seen his sparkly aura, but what next? 

‘Breakfast!’ Blake called up the stairs. ‘Scrambled eggs and orange juice.'

Conversation over the food was strictly domestic. What time to serve dinner, did Gethin like sprouts, and carrots, should they take the table through into the living room where there was more space, or eat on trays, or what... none of it important, all of it serving only as reassurance that whatever else was different, now, in the wake of Blake’s discovery, most things were just the same.

Except how could things be the same, now? Gethin had been holding his feelings for Blake at bay only because, well, Blake wasn’t gay...

Okay, mostly because he wasn’t gay. There was the angel thing to consider.

‘Let me wash up,’ Gethin said, pressing his hand on Blake’s shoulder to keep him seated as he went past. ‘You made the food, it’s only fair.’

Blake reached up to cover his fingers with his own and pat gently.

‘Thank you, Gethin,’ he said. ‘But leave those; I want to do my tree! Our tree, I mean, I...’

‘No, you’re right; it is your tree. Not that there’s much left to do.’

‘I’ve got a few ideas, if you don’t mind...’

Blake cut lengths of kitchen foil and folded them, concertina-style, to open them out and join the edges in silver circles with tape, sticking a loop of string on for hanging, telling Gethin on which branches to place them and standing back to admire the effect with a smile.

‘Marvellous!’ he exclaimed. 

‘Bloody jay, you, all the shiny!’ Gethin said, grinning.

‘Oh, I know what it needs!’ Blake said. ‘Let me get my scarf.’

He fetched his tinsel scarf and unwound it, draping its component strands over the branches.

Tinsel, Gethin thought. Perfect way back to the subject of Blake’s recent self-discovery.

‘Blake,’ he began. ‘I saw your aura, but... how could I? If it’s an angel thing to see them, then...?’

‘I don’t know,’ Blake said, suddenly intent on getting a twist of red tinsel perfectly placed. ‘I have had one or two thoughts...’

‘And?’

‘Well, perhaps being around an angel has heightened your senses. You might be able to see other auras, you just... just haven’t looked...’

Gethin went to stand in front of the hall mirror.

‘Looking now,’ he said. ‘Can’t see mine... can see yours, still, even reflected.’

‘Then maybe it’s... although I don’t know why you would... you’re attuned to me.’

Blake had come to stand behind him, and Gethin was glad of it, made it easier to speak, somehow, his reflection to Blake’s.

‘Well, if by ‘attuned’ you mean I like you, it’s true, I really, really like you and... and I’m very glad you’re gay because... you’re bloody gorgeous, and your mad, and you need someone to keep you out of trouble and you’re just perfect and... well, I thought, maybe I was meant to see...’

‘Oh, Gethin,’ Blake’s voice was soft and sad. ‘I love everyone, it’s what angels do. But it’s different, the natural love I feel for everyone, including you, and then I have layers of other stuff on top of it which is just you, only you, wanting to... well, to cuddle you, I suppose. That’s what humans do, isn’t it? And... except, it’s a bit of a grey area, I wouldn’t want to lead you into sin... but if it wasn’t for that, I think... it’s all very complicated, isn’t it?’

Blake’s reflection looked away with a glint of gold from his aura.

‘Only if you let it be,’ Gethin said. ‘Bit of a shock for you, I expect. All the times you said, you’re not gay, and now suddenly...’

‘Suddenly I am.’ 

‘That’s how it is, sometimes. Me, I was always that kid who was a bit different...’ 

Gethin turned away from the mirror and went back to the tree, brushing the branches, lifted up the Action Angel, cradling it as gently as if it were Blake himself in his hands.

‘Got books downstairs might be helpful,’ he added. ‘But come and help me here first. I thought, not right at the top of the tree, but standing like he’s climbed it for a recce, holding on with one arm...’

‘Oh, I see... yes, that’s clever... and perfectly right...’

Blake came over to help settle the figure amongst the branches. His fingers met Gethin’s and they both recoiled, and laughed at themselves.

Gethin reached up to run a finger over the Action Angel’s paper wings. ‘Well. What do you think, will it do?’

‘It’s wonderful,’ Blake said. ‘Perfect. I can’t begin to thank you. Well, I... hugging, hugging isn’t sinful, is it?’

‘No,’ Gethin said, turning to allow Blake to fold his arms around him in a warm, affectionate embrace. ‘Pretty sure hugging’s fine.’ 

A sudden intensity of fragrance, cinnamon and chocolate and warm spice thickened the air, making Gethin’s senses reel, making him want to cling and snuggle and the angel seemed to be snuggling back...

‘Blake? You do know there’s a time limit on a hug, when it stops being friendly and becomes...?’

‘What?’ Blake asked pressing his cheek against Gethin’s hair. ‘Sinful?’

‘Was going to say, ‘intimate’, myself.’ Gethin gave Blake a reluctant breaking-the-hug squeeze and made himself move away. ‘And it’s not that I mind, really I don’t, but you probably need to watch what your hips are doing in future.’

‘Bloody nuisance, human bodies,’ Blake said.


	13. Grey Area

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steph spends Christmas with Gethin and Blake...

The shrill trill of the doorbell sounded, an unwelcome intervention.

‘That’ll be Steph,’ Blake said.

Gethin nodded. ‘I’ll let her in. You get ready to show off your tree.’

Unwilling, almost unable to leave things as they were, he stepped towards Blake, steadied his hands on the broad shoulders and lifted his face to place a small, chaste kiss on his cheek, inhaling sudden, chocolate spice. 

‘Merry Christmas, Blake,’ he said, and headed for the stairs, leaving the angel staring after him and resting shocked fingers against his face.

Gethin’s heart was pounding. Still stunned by his own daring, the memory of Blake’s skin under his lips made it hard to shape his mouth into a greeting as he opened the door. Somehow, he managed.

‘Morning, Steph. Merry Christmas.’

‘And you. Thanks for this. I brought a bottle, is that all right?’

‘Very good of you. Come on up. Blake wants to show you something...’

‘Oh?’

Blake held the door to the flat, beaming.

‘Steph! Merry Christmas!’

‘And you. Well, what’s this thing you’re going to show me, then? Should I be worried?’

The angel stepped aside so that Steph could enter, could see the table in the corner with its tree.

‘Oh, my God!’ she exclaimed, causing Gethin to flinch. ‘You won, then?’

Blake didn’t seem bothered by the casual blasphemy, just smiled and shrugged expansively.

‘I’d hardly put it like that... and it was an utter surprise, I heard noises in the night and... well, I didn’t expect it to be Father Christmas, but I never imagined I’d find Gethin decorating a tree at three in the morning...’

‘I was up,’ Gethin said with a shrug of his own.

Steph laughed. 

‘Oh, wait, what’s that on top?’

‘An angel, my angel,’ Blake said proudly. ‘See, he’s blond, and he’s got a beret and everything.’

‘Is that why you asked if I could knit, Gethin ? For the wings.’

‘That’s right, yeah.’

‘Well, if I’d known... The colour, though. I thought angels had white wings... ’

‘White wings are boring,’ Gethin said. ‘Only ordinary, dull angels have white wings. Real, brave, hero angels, the sort that turn up and save you, they have wings like real birds have. My angel has jay’s wings.’

‘All right, I get it.’

‘Come and sit down, Steph,’ Blake said. ‘What do you want to drink? We’ve got everything from water through to whiskey...’

‘Bit early for me. Coffee?’

‘One vegetarian coffee coming up, along with two cups of tea. And then I need to start in the kitchen.’

So much for Blake doing everything. Soon enough it was, ‘Gethin, could you give me a hand here?’ and ‘Steph, do you understand tofu enough to trust me or shall we go with the nut roast?’ and ‘Steph, keep stirring, Gethin, can you just rinse the carrots...?’ 

But somehow it worked. It meant they all got to talk to each other, all had input to the meal, nobody was left alone, standing in the kitchen or sitting in the living room, for more than a moment or two. And while Blake had them both busy, he was bustling around elsewhere, putting on creaky Christmas tunes from old movies, setting the table up in the living room, adding touches of brightness and sparkle everywhere.

‘Wonderful, lovely! Thank you, everyone!’ he announced. ‘Twenty minutes before I need to check things, how shall we spend the time? Drinks or presents? Or both?’

‘Presents?’ Steph echoed, nicely voicing Gethin’s private dread.

‘Of course, presents,’ Blake said with a crinkling of his forehead and a smile. ‘For the two of you, from me. Steph, you brought the wine, Gethin, you provided the tree, so I had to do something... don’t worry, I’ve not been extravagant, just inventive...’

He launched himself out of the room and returned back with a couple of envelopes and a winning smile.

‘Gethin, you first. I remembered what you said. World peace, an end to poverty... well, not quite my remit. But relaxation on the import laws... I happen to have contacts... you get in touch with Raz, his number’s in there, he’ll help.’

‘Okay, thanks. HM Customs, safeguarding the nation’s virtue and stifling business...’ Gethin smiled, and, just for Blake said, ‘Mind, there was the other thing I thought of...’

Blake cleared his throat.

‘Moving on... Steph. For you.’ He presented the envelope with a flourish. ‘It’s nothing much...’

Steph tore open the envelope and took out a piece of paper. As she did, a key fell out.

‘Jonathan!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s... just... what? Nothing much...?’

‘Maiden aunt in Brixton,’ Blake said, careful not to say whose maiden aunt. ‘She’d been in a nursing home. The will’s got to go through probate, having someone there would be a weight off our minds... no rent to pay. It’s going to take about six months, I think. It’s all perfectly legal and quite formal – even got your name on the documents. After that, well, if you like it, you’d be saving everyone a lot of trouble by staying on as a tenant. ’

‘Jonathan! That’s... Thank you!’ She jumped up from the sofa to hug him. ‘But... I don’t... what about you, don’t you need it?’

‘Oh, I already have somewhere to live,’ Blake said, waving his hand in dismissal. ‘Now, you’ll need to go to the office on Tuesday... the address is there... so it’s a couple more nights in the hostel, I’m afraid...’

‘But... it’s mad, you, you’re just mad... thank you...’

‘You mentioned drinks,’ Gethin said. ‘I think Steph could do with one, what about you?’

‘Lovely idea,’ Blake said, smiling as he took a seat next to Steph on the sofa. ‘Have we got any gin?’

*

Dinner, even Steph’s variation on the feast, was a roaring success. There was too much, of course, but Blake said he could do amazing things with leftovers, and was so utterly straight faced when he said it that Steph snorted with laughter, not quite knowing why. 

‘I know what we need now,’ Blake said. ‘We need to find a proper Christmas film on telly, what do you say, Gethin? It’s either that or charades...’

‘Not really my thing...’

‘Oh, but it’s a great idea,’ Blake protested. ‘Bet you don’t have access to a TV at the hostel, do you, Steph?’

‘No, but...’

‘There we are then. Gethin, you top up the drinks, I’ll find something suitable.’

‘You call this suitable?’ Gethin protested when Blake had selected a channel and got comfortable in the middle of the sofa, Steph one side, Gethin wedged into the other corner. 

‘This is ‘The Bishop’s Wife’, isn’t it?’ Steph said. ‘One of my mother’s favourites. Of course, if she’d known about Cary Grant...’

‘Just... why does everything about Christmas have to be so bloody religious?’ Gethin muttered.

‘Don’t you want to watch it with us?’ Blake said in tones of misery. 

‘I never said that,’ Gethin protested.

‘I’d like to watch it,’ Steph said. ‘If Gethin doesn’t mind.’

‘And it’s got angels in and everything...’ Blake went on. ‘It’s perfect.’

Gethin tipped his head back and sighed.

‘Well, in that case. If we must.’

Truth was, he wasn’t really that bothered. Not so happy with the stiff formality of organised religion as shown, the stereotyping, mind. But Blake was vibrating with joy at the screen portrayal of an angel and when, about half way in, he draped his arms along the back of the sofa, dropping one hand onto Gethin’s shoulder, Gethin decided he really didn’t mind at all.

More drinks. Blake on the gin again... 

‘Don’t forget, it only looks like water,’ Gethin reminded him.

‘What’s this?’ Steph asked. ‘Somebody overdo it?’

‘Oh, no, not at all...’ Blake said. ‘Well, a bit. But I don’t have to go anywhere or do anything else all day, so it doesn’t matter if I do, does it?’

‘You’ll be the one with the hangover,’ Steph said, settling back with a whiskey.

From Blake’s smug expression, Gethin wondered if angels even got hangovers, but forbore to ask.

Tea was Christmas cake and mince pies – and just when had Blake found time to bake and ice a cake as well as everything? – and afterwards, Blake gave another bright smile.

‘There’s a great film on in a minute,’ he said. ‘It’s called, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, and it’s perfect for Christmas, it’s...’

‘...got an angel in and everything,’ Gethin finished for him with a groan. ‘This one I know. All right, then. If you can face another Christmas movie, Steph?’

‘What time’s it finish?’ she asked. ‘My taxi’s booked for nine, I have to be back for ten. The doors are locked at ten, and that’s it.’

‘Really?’ Blake frowned. ‘That seems harsh.’

‘I suppose the staff have lives too,’ she said with a shrug. ‘They’re all right there. And, thanks to you, it won’t be a problem for much longer, will it?’

‘Just a few more days, Steph. There’s loads of stuff in the flat, too. Of course you’ll want your own things, but just to start with...’

A few whiskeys, two sentimental movies and being overfed good food had done wonders for Steph, blunting her defensive prickles so that when it was time to get her coat and her bag and the keys to the impossible, amazing flat, and the bag of leftover vegetarian options Blake had sorted out for her, she was in mellow mood and hugged them both.

‘It’s been lovely,’ she said. ‘Thanks. And, Jonathan... don’t know what to say. You’re a real angel, aren’t you?’

Blake gave a tight-lipped smile. 

‘Our secret,’ he whispered, making her grin. ‘Don’t tell, will you?’

‘Let me walk you down and wait with you,’ Gethin said. ‘It’s only ten to, but sometimes they drive off if you’re not waiting.’

*

Ten past. Steph lit a cigarette and blew out smoke, leaning against the wall.

‘You go back up,’ she said. ‘No point both of us hanging around in the cold.’

‘No, it’s all right... how long’s it take to get back to your place?’

‘Forty minutes. No buses on the road, half an hour, maybe. I’m not worried yet.’

At twenty past, she sighed.

‘All right, I’m worried.’

‘I’ll ask Blake to give them a ring.’

While Blake dealt with the taxi company, Gethin opened up the connecting door to the shop and rang the hostel to plead for an extension for Steph, but nobody was answering.

Blake thundered down the stairs.

‘They say they sent a car. Yes, I told them, no they didn’t, been waiting... I tried three more numbers, nobody’s got any cars, it’s starting to get busy.’

The girl slumped.

‘Don’t worry, Steph,’ Blake said. ‘I’m sure Gethin won’t mind if you doss down here...’

‘Of course you can stay,’ Gethin said. ‘There’s the spare room, if you don’t mind giving it up for a night, Blake?’

‘Erm... no, no, that’s fine. There’s always the sofa.’

‘It’s going to be a bit short for you, Bunk in with me if you like?’

Steph raised her hands to protest. ‘I can’t take your room, Jonathan; I can have the sofa.’

‘Yes, you can, Steph,’ Blake said. ‘It makes more sense for you to have the room, I’m usually up and wandering around early, wouldn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Really, it’s no trouble,’ Gethin said, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘Besides, if you need a coffee or anything, you won’t need to worry about disturbing whoever’s sleeping in the sitting room, right?’

‘Yeah, I... suppose so, thanks.’

‘Come back up to the flat,’ Gethin said. ‘I’ll just lock up again.’

He got upstairs to find the living room and kitchen empty and Blake’s voice, its tone reassuring, from above. He followed the sound, found Steph on the landing while Blake, inside the guest room, was moving his things around.

‘Clean sheets in the drawer, there,’ Gethin said, nodding. ‘Want a hand?’

‘No, let me,’ Steph said. ‘Honest, you’re already being so kind...’

‘That’s what I thought, when he took me in,’ Blake said. ‘Right, hospital corners, let’s see if I can remember...’

Gethin wandered back downstairs to put the kettle on. Something he’d inherited, from his upbringing, perhaps; everything, each small event, each big event, was marked by making a pot of tea, whether you wanted it or not.

Tonight, it was partly commiseration for Steph, part triumph; he’d be sharing a room with Blake. Sharing the bed with an angel.

He’d better not snore.

He’d better not pinch all the covers.

He’d better not decide he didn’t need to sleep and go off flying around or something.

And he’d definitely better not stop up all night watching rubbish on the TV...

‘Steph’s just settling in, I think she needs a moment,’ Blake said from behind him. ‘I... I have a sort of confession to make... and I can’t settle until I tell someone... and I don’t know why I did it... well, twitchy feeling, but... please, you won’t tell Steph, will you?’

‘No, of course not, why? What is it? Not this flat, is it? Because if that falls through...’

‘No, oh, the flat’s sound, no, I just... when you walked her down...’ Blake took a deep breath and stared at the door as if looking would keep Steph out of earshot. ‘I... sort of... rangupandcancelledhertaxi...’

‘What? Why the hell would you do that?’

‘Fuck me if I know,’ Blake said with a shrug. ‘I just had to.’

‘You just had to...?’

‘I know, I know, it’s stupid... And I lied.’ Blake sighed. ‘Sorry, I feel awful about it...’

‘I don’t,’ Gethin said with a grin. ‘Not if it means you’re sharing my room...’

‘Yes, about that...’

‘What? What about that, Blake?’ Gethin asked softly. Blake was already close to him, so that he’d been able to make his confession quietly, and it was the perfect excuse to move in a little nearer. ‘Do you think it might be why you got twitchy? Because I’ve been thinking, why would I see your aura, Blake, if I wasn’t meant to see, to know, when I’ve never seen an aura in my life before, twinkly or otherwise? Do you think it might be a hint we’re okay to be together, we’re... supposed to?’

He slid his arms around Blake’s lower back, linking his fingers together to lean away and look up at him. The ageless brown eyes were wondering, searching, and the angel compressed his lips in what was nearly a smile.

‘It’s a bit of a grey area, Gethin,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you’re familiar with the old teachings, you know, Sodom and Gomorrah and all that...?’

‘Religious upbringing, yes, I know the stories.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to, you know, lead you astray...’

Gethin laughed. ‘I’ve been straying for years, cariad,’ (and where did that come from, cariad, so soon, after one chaste kiss and a couple of gentle hugs?) ‘... so you wouldn’t be. In fact, think about it, you’d probably be stopping me leading someone else into sin, wouldn’t you?’

‘Ah, now, that’s not fair...’ Blake protested, half-closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

‘Just pointing out it shouldn’t be a consideration, that’s all. Don’t worry, not about to ravish you.’

‘What, not even if I ask nicely? Joke, Gethin, a joke, I... Do you mind if we just... only that... thing’s happened again...’

‘Yes, I noticed.’ Reluctant, sighing, Gethin pulled away. ‘Can’t help ourselves, can we?’

‘Mmm. Being of the angelic persuasion, I’m not used to temptation. Whatever am I supposed to do about it?’

Gethin looked up under his lashes in a look shamelessly copied from young Jeff.

‘You could always try giving in,’ he said. ‘Works for me.’

*

Steph came downstairs, needing reassurance she wasn’t in the way.

‘Look, I’m sorry about this...’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Gethin said, careful not to look at Blake.

‘A nightcap,’ Blake said. ‘You need a nightcap. Or possibly a cup of tea, since that’s what seems to be on offer...’

‘Think I’ll give it a miss, ta.’

‘There’s a film on in a minute,’ Blake said bouyantly with his bright, bright grin. ‘“A Matter of Life And Death”, it’s got David Niven in again, and... well, sort of angels, and...’

‘Go on, then,’ Steph said. ‘And if there’s any gin left...’

Gethin got himself a cup of tea and sat down next to Jonathan. The last thing he wanted was to watch another film, but the choice between going to bed alone and sitting next to Blake watching a movie wasn’t exactly difficult. In fact, a little manoeuvring and he ended up snuggled in quite comfortably. Blake looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smile, and once the angel allowed his arm to rest around his shoulders, Gethin would quite happily have watched the test card for an hour and a half.

Sentiment and alcohol, and Blake was sniffing at the end of the film.

‘Big softy,’ Steph said, giving him an affectionate punch. ‘Goodnight, then.’

It made sense to give their guest time to clear the bathroom. Gethin pottered around, putting the room to rights, rinsing out the glasses and leaving them to drain. Wiping down in the kitchen... allowing Steph time to settle became delaying tactics, he knew, Blake still on the sofa staring at the switched-off TV.

‘Come on,’ Gethin said. ‘Time for bed.’

‘I’ll sit up for a bit, I think...’

‘I’ll keep you company, then.’

‘Oh, all right. Time for bed.’

An odd and respectful gavotte played out around the bedroom; Blake going to the bathroom while Gethin changed into pyjama bottoms, himself going to wash and leave Blake in privacy to get into bed. 

The angel was already cocooned under the covers, only the gold honey hair showing, so buried under blankets that Gethin couldn’t tell which way he was facing.

He had, however, chosen Gethin’s preferred side of the bed...

Still, it would be something to look forward to, other nights, knowing he was lying where Blake had been, he thought, sliding into bed and reaching to turn out the bedside lamp.

‘Good night, Blake,’ he said, not really expecting a reply as he lay on his back, closer to the edge than to the middle of the mattress just to give the angel more room.

‘I say, Gethin...’

Blake was lying facing him, Gethin noted, finding himself moving into the angel’s radiated body heat. An arm rested across his chest as Blake shifted nearer, bringing his mouth to Gethin’s neck, his breath hot as he kissed his throat. Gethin swallowed under the working tongue, allowing himself to reach out, sliding his hand over Blake’s hip to reach down and explore, the angel pushing his erection into his fingers, encouraging him to stroke the hot, hard flesh. Blake growled, stopped kissing to nuzzle in, to speak.

‘You’re going to get me into terrible trouble.’

Gethin stopped abruptly, feeling sick and sour at the thought. He withdrew his hand.

‘Sorry, Blake, sorry, I... I wouldn’t want to do that.’ He turned over awkwardly, putting his back to the angel. ‘Sorry.’

Blake snuggled in, the hard length of him pressing close.

‘You stopped?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you change your mind?’

‘Not really, no.’ 

‘Gethin... I thought, I... you... we... you know, in a way it was a relief when you saw the sparkle in my aura. Everything made more sense, but... but I’ve never obsessed over anyone like I find I am you, never cared that someone else liked them, never worried I wouldn’t be good enough, except in terms of the job...’

Blake’s voice was compelling, urgent in his ear. He stroked Gethin’s shoulder with shuddering fingers and it was all Gethin could do not to turn onto his back, open his arms.

‘Don’t want you to be in bother with anyone, Blake’ he said. ‘I know you’re worried about making any more mistakes.’

‘That’s work, Gethin, this... this isn’t. You’re not a job, you’re just a lovely, lovely person who took me in... I suppose, you were my angel, if you think about it. It’s all right, I’m sure it’s all right...’

Now Gethin did turn, saw the ping and glint of gold from Blake’s aura.

‘I’m your angel?’

‘Yes. You helped me, you took me in. Oh, I know Jeff asked you to, and you like Jeff, that’s why you did it, but then you stood up for me. You wouldn’t let Roscoe in, you defended me...’

‘It was not,’ Gethin said through gritted teeth, ‘because of Jeff. It was because of you.’

‘Well, fuck me...’

Gethin sat up abruptly.

‘If you keep saying that, one of these times I’m going to... to...’

‘Sorry.’ Blake reached out an apologetic hand, patting and soothing at his shoulder. ‘Sorry. Look, I... I’m going out, I need to talk to someone about this... thing that happens when I’m near you. Yuri said it’s just lust, perfectly normal and it will pass. But it happens when you’re not around, just thinking about you, and there are all the feelings that go with it, I thought I knew what it was like to love humans, but it’s not at all like this, it’s messy and nice and fuzzy and frightening and I don’t know what to do...... Will you leave the window open for me?’

What? 

But before Gethin could protest, Blake leaned in to kiss him soft and sweet on his forehead, and slithered out of bed, pushing up the window and beginning to climb through.

‘Just leave it open an inch or two, enough for me to get my fingers under. Well, I can’t come in through the landing window in case of Steph, can I?’

‘Okay, all right.’ Gethin got out of bed and came towards the angel. ‘Mind yourself; it’s draughty out there.’

‘I will.’ Blake pushed off from the sill in a spread of plumage, sweeping up into the sky in a golden shimmer of light, leaving Gethin to huddle into the little pool of warmth left by the angel and think about what might have been, had he not been quite so anxious not to get Blake into trouble.


	14. Interlude on Christmas Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake returns...

It was the grating of the window against the frame that made Gethin realise he was no longer alone in the room. By the time he came properly awake – he’d been asleep, but had the heavy, achy feeling that suggested it hadn’t been for long – and pushed himself up against the pillows to blink and look around, the window had been closed and the chair in the corner of the room was occupied by a naked, shimmering angel.

Gethin blinked to clear his eyes, and as his vision settled the golden shimmer faded leaving just a few golden glints twinkling like pinpoint fireflies above Blake’s head. 

The angel wasn’t so much sitting as perching in the chair, his heels drawn up onto the seat and his arms folded on top of his knees, his face half concealed. 

It made his eyes all the more dramatic in the half light from the window with its undrawn curtains.

Seeing Gethin awake and looking, he shifted to rest his chin on his arms.

‘The thing about Sodom and Gomorrah, Gethin,’ he said softly. ‘The angels were totally up for it.’

‘What?’

‘The angels. How it happened, they turned up at Lot’s place, crowd of people braying on the doors, wanting Lot to let them come out to play... they weren’t about to be molested or anything, it was just a meet-and-greet, that’s how they did it in those days, that region. Bit of an orgy, get to know your neighbours, sort of thing. Only Lot stuck his nose in, and his oar...’

‘Never did much like how he treated his daughters, to be honest with you.’

‘No, no, there was that... Well. So while I might be the first actual gay angel, it doesn’t mean others haven’t... didn’t... and it used to go on all the time, angels and humans, too much so, Yuri said, so there was a need to be more discreet... and it still happens, but times change and... granted, it’s still a grey area. But, look here, if I’m gay – as I seem to be, and working with the gay community, then surely I need to know as much as possible? Surely a celibate gay angel is no more use than a celibate straight angel, and therefore...’ Blake slowly unfolded himself, getting to his feet and crossing to sit on the bed. 

‘Therefore, it counts as research, it can’t possibly be wrong...’

‘Oh, and if you think I’m just going to be your research assistant...’ Gethin gathered the blankets up to his chin, sliding down beneath them into the sanctuary of the bed. Not thinking he really meant it, realising as he said it, yes, he did, he wanted to be more to Blake than just a teacher, he wanted to matter to him...

‘No, oh, Gethin, no, you’re so much more than that, you’re... you’re why I went out tonight to let Yuri laugh at me again, all the way to Bristol, just so he could laugh and his pal Rafe could look all disapproving at me...’ Blake leaned towards him, crawled up the bed to stop, awkwardly kneeling. ‘You’re why my aura sparkles. Did it sound wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound wrong, I...’

‘Get in,’ Gethin said, sliding over and trying to free the covers under Blake so he could join him beneath the sheltering blankets. ‘I know, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Come here, you’re freezing!’

‘I’m really not,’ Blake said, allowing Gethin to pull him across his body and wrap him in a hug. ‘But this is nice...’

The sudden swirling fragrance of chocolate and cinnamon that Gethin was coming to associate with Blake drifted around heady in the air as Gethin felt Blake’s cool skin swiftly heat in his embrace.

‘I say, Gethin?’

‘First lesson,’ Gethin said, repositioning himself and taking Blake’s face between his hands. ‘Try not to talk with your mouth full.’

‘I don’t und...’

Gethin closed his eyes as he pulled Blake’s mouth to his, slow in his guiding of the kiss, settling under the solidity of the angel’s body. Blake was a complicit, eager participant, needing only the slightest encouragement to open his mouth and allow Gethin to slide his tongue in to explore and deepen the kiss. Against his body, Blake’s erection was hard, hot and pressing into Gethin’s hip like burning metal and his own aching need surged and brought everything down to the moment, to the kiss, the wild abandon of Blake’s hair against Gethin’s fingers, the eager lust of his mouth, the spiced fragrance all around making his head reel. He jumped and jittered under the electrical frisson of skin-on-skin, gasping into Blake’s mouth as the angel’s hands began to roam his body, to find the waistband of his stupid pyjamas and explore inside, pushing them down, away, releasing more of Gethin’s flesh to his searching fingers.

...no, that wasn’t what Gethin was expecting, he was meant to be guiding Blake, not losing control of the moment, not... not... but Blake’s hand was heaven, firm and warm and he couldn’t stop his hips from pushing and thrusting and pulling against the gentle grip, instinct taking hold over conscious thought and what could he do, with that glorious mouth kissing him, that gorgeous hair silking against his fingers and that compulsive, insistent need stoked and stroked by those wonderful fingers? His heart was thundering, he couldn’t get enough breath, he was burning, aflame, and the only release was the hand that slid along the length of his erection as he pushed into it, the heat of Blake’s mouth and it had been too long and never, ever like this and... a

...and he cried out against Blake’s tongue, spasming and shuddering as he spilled all his lust in desperate, heady spurts, his body pulsing and twitching long after he was emptied and lay shaken and shivering as Blake disengaged from the kiss.

‘Gethin? I say, Gethin, are you all right? I mean, you’re awfully quiet...’

Gethin smiled, grinned up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes towards Blake’s.

‘Bit shaken, that’s all. You’re quite something.’

‘Am I, am I really...? But I’m... and I’m not complaining, you understand – awfully sticky, suddenly...’

‘On your side of the bed, on the floor, box of tissues.’ Now would be a good point to apologise, but Gethin didn’t; after all, he hadn’t intended... ‘Help yourself...’

‘Thank you.’

‘And then come here.’

‘I am here.’

‘No, I mean... come here. Lie down.’

‘Um... I say, Gethin...?’

‘No, it’s fine, just do it. On your back, that’s right. Relax.’

‘How can I relax when...when bits of me are... all tense...?’

‘Well, let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?’

Gethin had just about stopped trembling, his body recovering and he felt quite wonderfully relaxed himself, at peace with his nature and his body. He waited for Blake to get settled and looked down into his eyes. In the dimness Blake’s face was a series of planes and shadows, the eyes dark pools, the occasional glitter of his aura zinging gold and copper specks of brightness. Gethin kissed his forehead, the bridge of his fine nose, his cheek, the corner of his mouth and felt him smile, sequenced kisses and little licks all the way along his jawbone and under, his neck and throat... Blake’s hand rested on his head, stroking his hair and sighing as Gethin shifted, following the tracks of his mouth over those fine, firm double pectorals and the centre of Blake’s beautiful torso, wriggling his way between the powerful thighs to be perfectly placed to touch as he kissed lower, and lower, resting his fingers on Blake’s erection and guiding him into his mouth. Blake tensed.

‘I... I say... but, Gethin...’

Gethin swirled his tongue in a manner calculated to please and to silence, and looked up, releasing his prize for a moment.

‘Don’t say anything, Blake, just enjoy, cariad... it’s all right, it’s fine, just let yourself relax...’

With that he bent to his work once more, not that it was work, wonderful to have the scent and taste of the angel in his mouth, all around him, feel the heat of him, the shimmering responses of his body, to know he was in control, giving new sensations, giving pleasure, was going to make Blake come whether he realised it or not and... was it all right? Was angel semen as safe to ingest as human?

‘How the fuck would I know?’ Blake gasped, making Gethin grin around his mouthful and shake with laughter he had to hastily suppress because just then the angel moaned and his hips surged upwards, burying his cock deeper into Gethin’s throat than he’d anticipated. He swallowed, readjusted, pulled back and allowed his teeth to frisson over the sliding skin and Blake wailed and convulsed, filling Gethin’s mouth with hot, salt and sweet and, bloody hell, spiced semen and before he could properly gulp it down, the bed rocked and he was pushed onto his side, Blake rolling with him as, with a whumph! of displaced air, the room filled with feathers, Blake’s wings thrusting out from his back to rattle the objects on the dressing table and scrape the light fitting, to rock him forward onto Gethin and flutter and flurry as he attempted to get his wayward plumage under control.

Silence, but for the rustle and rattle of wings. Gethin finished swallowing, carefully released Blake from his mouth and tried to move out from under. Blake flapped once or twice, managed to get the wings folded away as he fought now with the bedding to emerge from the tangle of covers and plumage

‘Well, fuck me!’ he exclaimed.

‘I think we’re going to have to work up to that one gently,’ Gethin said, and Blake laughed, covering his mouth when Gethin shushed him. ‘Steph’s in the other room, remember? Hush, now! Hush!’

‘Sorry, sorry... that was...’ Blake smiled and shrugged his shoulders up with a sigh. ‘There aren’t the words.’

‘I know. Yes, it was, for me too. What’s with the wings?’

‘Oh, nothing. Well, not nothing. I thought it was just a story, a legend... they say that at the ultimate moment of bliss our wings emerge... and I think that’s what happened, I just... couldn’t help it.’

‘Beautiful, your wings. Can I put the light on, look properly?’

‘Go on, then.’ Blake grinned. ‘Although you have seen them before.’

‘Yes, but that was when you were hurt. And then before we were... well.’

The light clicked on. It was still dim, not so bright as the overhead light would be, but it was enough to show up the soft tones of Blake’s beautiful wings, for Gethin to marvel and for Blake to get out of bed to shake them out and resettle them. He stood while Gethin stroked gently, wondering, lost in the softness, mesmerised by the look of bliss on Blake’s face. He stepped closer to put his arms around him, sliding his hands up under the fold of feathers at his back, laid his face against Blake’s firm chest. The angel folded his arms around him, and then his wings, too, so that Gethin was covered in a mantle of dense, dusty warmth.

‘When I met the chaps tonight,’ Blake said, ‘Rafe flew in to join us. He manifests as a swan, biggest span of all of us, simply stunning, really. But all I could do was think about what you said to Steph, that white wings were dull and only boring angels had white wings... it was so hard not to laugh. Of course, you can’t laugh at Rafe, his feelings would be hurt. Yuri is much more abrasive, but a better sense of humour.’ He brought his head to Gethin’s shoulder, snuggled in against him. ‘This is nice.’

‘Yes, nice. Wonderful, you, you’re wonderful.’ He kissed Blake’s cheek gently. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Hm? Yes, of course. What is it?’

‘Everyone calls you Jonathan, but you introduced yourself to me as Blake. Can I...? Don’t you want me to call you Jonathan?’

‘Well, I was expecting to be a nuisance and get told off... I decided I didn’t want to hear you say ‘Jonathan’ in a reproachful way... Besides, it’s shorter, Blake. Faster to say in a hurry.’

‘True. But I can make time, for you, to say Jonathan.’

‘Marvellous,’ Blake said. ‘Better put the wings away, I suppose. They might get in the way a bit in bed.’

‘Yes, better try to sleep, I suppose. Need to be up in the morning. Give Steph a good breakfast, sort her out a taxi home, rest of the day to ourselves...’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ Blake said. ‘Better stand back a bit – I need room for this.’

Gethin retreated to the bed and watched as Blake stretched out his wings, fingering out the pinions and lifting them high before rolling his shoulders forwards and tilting his head from side to side as the wings began to fold, and kept folding until the bright blue barring hooked into the slits in Blake’s back and slid away, continuing to slide until nothing of the amazing wings was left to see.

‘Incredible,’ Gethin said. ‘Not possible, really...’

‘Well, you see, I’m a metaphysical being inside a physical shell. The wings manifest as physical, but they’re part of my angelic nature so when they go back into my body, they become intention and thought and energy... oh, never mind. Just move over, I want to cuddle you to sleep... if that’s all right with you.’

Gethin grinned and smoothed the mattress next to him.

‘Yes, Jonathan cariad, that’s quite all right with me.’


	15. Twitchy-twitchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan has another of his feelings...

The bedcovers somehow too heavy, except, not covers, but Blake – Jonathan, spread all over him like jam on toast and just as sweet... Gethin freed one hand to stroke through the tangled hair, an urgency in his groin and a smile on his face. Chaotic honey-gold locks made free with his chin and cheek and he was overwarm beneath the weight of the angel.

‘You know, for a metaphysical creature, you’re bloody heavy,’ he said.

The golden head lifted heavily and the gorgeous brown eyes blinked lazily as the mouth smiled like a blessing.

‘Good morning,’ Jonathan said. ‘I say, Gethin, that thing’s happening again, to the old man...’

‘The old man...?’ Gethin exhaled theatrically and wrapped his arms around the angel in a soft cuddle, aware of his own body’s hardness. ‘It’s just a hard-on, Jonathan, an erection, it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Yes, sort of getting that now... Oh, and look, you’ve got one as well.’

‘Better do something about it then, hadn’t we?’

‘Oh? What do you suggest...?’

‘Well, I’ve got a few books downstairs that will show you the ins and outs, as it were, but until then, come here, gorgeous Jay...’

*

Despite a joyful hour spent exploring possibilities and showing Blake his way around the human body in a little more depth, Gethin was still washed, dressed, and downstairs before Steph made an entrance.

‘Morning, Steph, coffee's on the way.’

A grumbled nothing in reply as Steph flumped onto the sofa. Gethin took one look and put the kettle on.

‘It’s not a hangover,’ Steph said. ‘If that’s what you’re thinking, I’m just a bit tired.’

‘Of course not. Now, not sure how Jonathan makes your coffee,’ Gethin went on, finding mugs. ‘So it’s going to be black, and you can tart it up how you like, okay?’

She opened one eye a little bit wider at that.

‘So he’s Jonathan now, is he?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘When’d that happen?’

‘Oh, about the same time we realised he probably is gay, after all.’

‘Really...?’ Steph was awake now, wide-awake, staring eyes on him. ‘He... you and...?’

‘Couldn’t possibly comment, might put you off your breakfast,’ Gethin said, bringing across black coffee, sugar and milk and spoons.

‘Sugar, no milk,’ she said. ‘Jonathan decided that’s what a vegetarian coffee is. Can I put the telly on?’

‘Course you can.’

‘I’m not impressed,’ she said after going through the channels a couple of times. ‘All kid’s stuff, or church.’

‘Christmas Sunday, nobody knows what to do with the schedule, I think. There’s always the radio.’

Steph gave up on the TV and was twiddling dials on the radio when Jonathan came in.

‘Morning, Steph, morning again, Gethin.’ Jonathan took up a station in front of the cooker. ‘Who wants breakfast?’

Bloody hell, how was Gethin supposed to keep his hands to himself, Blake’s bloody gorgeous arse in tight jeans just inches away in the narrow bit of the kitchen, and the secret of his wings, glorious, soft, sexy wings, and...?

‘Why don’t you go and sit with our guest?’ Jonathan suggested. ‘Is there tea in the pot yet?’

‘Yes, it’s brewing.’ Gethin stuck his hands in his pockets and slunk towards the sofa. ‘Found something you like, Steph?’

‘Not sure, what is this?’

He peered at the dial on the radio.

‘Local. Bit of music, bit of chat, bit of news. It’s all right, usually.’ 

He sipped at his tea and watched Blake was slowly dancing through the breakfast preparations to a middle-of-the-road soundtrack and wondered about their intended night out dancing, would it be different, now? Would their new understanding just make it more fun?

Jonathan turned to smile, frying pan in hand, poking at the contents.

‘I’ve done Steph’s first so our bacon doesn’t contaminate the frying pan for her. Steph, mushroom omelette coming up, and toast’s just popped if you want to butter it while I put this on a plate for you.’

‘You’re a sweetheart,’ Steph said, abandoning her coffee and beelining for the kitchen.

Proper breakfast followed; bacon rolls with mushrooms, as a concession to health, just what Gethin’s growling belly needed.

‘What Steph said, Jonathan, you’re a sweetheart.’

‘Maybe your sweetheart...’

‘Okay, if you two are going to get mushy, I’m out of here!’ Steph said, laughing and shaking her head. ‘Sooner I get back to the hostel, the sooner you two can start getting it out of your system...’

‘Sorry, I’ll behave!’ Jonathan said. ‘It’s just, well, all new to me, this.’

‘But Steph, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,’ Gethin added, not really meaning it, but trying. ‘It’s been great having you here.’

‘You’re very kind, but you need your own space, you two. Thanks, though.’

Breakfast was companionable, gratefully-received. After they’d finished, Steph helped Gethin with the washing up and allowed Blake to make her another cup of coffee.

‘Then I must think about making tracks... can I use your phone, Gethin?’

‘Oh, I’ll sort you out a taxi, don’t you worry,’ Jonathan said before Gethin could reply.

‘Thanks, but I want to phone the hostel, explain about last night. Should be someone there by now, even if it is a funny day.’

‘It’s going to be that, all right,’ Jonathan said softly as Steph headed for the hall and the telephone.

‘What’s up?’ Gethin asked.

‘Twitchy. Twitchy, twitchy, twitchy, in a not very nice sort of a way...’

Ten minutes later, Steph was back.

‘Can’t get through,’ she said, flopping on the sofa with a sigh. ‘If I get all the way there and can’t get in...’

‘Tell your driver to wait, and he can bring you back here,’ Jonathan said.

‘Oh, I couldn’t...’

‘Well, I’ll go and ring for a taxi while you argue it out with Gethin.’

‘Don’t be silly, course you could come back here,’ Gethin said. ‘I’ll give you the number of the flat if you like, give us a ring if you’ve got any problems... I’m your boss, remember? And I expect you want some of Tuesday off to sort out your new flat?’

‘Gethin, that’d be fab... and thanks for Christmas, and letting me stay, and...’ She shrugged up her shoulders. ‘I’ll get my bag.’

‘Five to ten minutes, they said,’ Jonathan announced as Steph reappeared, slinging on her coat. ‘I’ll walk you down.’

‘Don’t forget this,’ Gethin handed her the bag of leftovers Blake had prepared for her. ‘Come on.’

*

They waited with Steph on the doorstop, watching the white swirl of fog running along the street like ghosts. Steph coughed in the damp, sharp air.

‘When did this come down?’ she asked.

‘Late on, I think,’ Blake said. ‘It was still clear around two, wasn’t it, Gethin?’

Not that Gethin had been paying much attention to the weather or, indeed, had looked out of any windows so far today, not with so much to look at inside the flat...

‘Yes, I think so. Still, shouldn’t be much traffic on the roads.’

They heard the taxi, the rattle of its engine before they saw its black looming shape and the orange light in the mist. 

Steph gave Gethin an awkward hug.

‘Thanks again, Gethin; I’ll be here lunch time Tuesday...’

‘Make it ten on Wednesday morning, take a bit of time to settle in.’

Jonathan had been having a chat with the driver and held the door for Steph.

‘All paid,’ he said, ‘including the tip. Mind how you go.’

Upstairs, Gethin shut out the world along with the door and opened his arms.

‘Alone at last,’ he said, as Jonathan walked into his embrace and held him close. ‘Not that I would have minded if she’d stayed longer...’

‘Well, that’s good...’

‘...but to be able to relax with you, not worry about mention the wings or the angel stuff...’

‘...because there might be a change of plan...’

‘What?’

Jonathan shrugged, nestling in, sweet and affectionate. He kissed Gethin’s cheek.

‘Oh, this is going to take some getting used to... you’re so nice, cuddling is nice, why did I never realise how nice cuddling is before?’

‘Maybe you were cuddling the wrong person.’

‘Well, I’m certainly cuddling the right one now.’

‘How about making it, you know, a horizontal cuddle?’

‘I say, that’s a lovely thought. I think there’s time.’

‘Before what?’

But Blake didn’t say. Instead, he nuzzled and snuggled at Gethin’s neck all the way up the stairs to the bedroom, and Gethin soon forgot about the undertones of Jonathan’s words as he helped the angel with his buttons, and his zip, and laid himself naked on top of him to kiss every possible inch of skin while Jonathan gasped and jumped and moaned softly until finally Gethin took him in his mouth and, presently, the angel cried out and sat up abruptly, forced off his back by the surge of his suddenly-unfurled wings.

Gethin, swallowing and licking, trying not to laugh, extricated himself with a grin.

‘If that’s going to happen a lot, I think we’re going to have plan in advance a bit more,’ he said.

Jonathan grinned, a delighted dazzle of joy as he bounced around on the bed to take Gethin in his arms and kiss him soundly.

‘My turn now,’ he said. ‘If that’s all right.’

It was, it was very all right, especially as Jonathan kept his wings out and so Gethin was able to stroke and caress the soft plumage, the fluttery brush against his fingers adding another layer of sensation to the encounter that had him rocking and plunging, arcing off the bed in exquisite joy as Blake’s inexperienced, eager mouth pulled out of him a magical climax that left him awed and trembling.

Jonathan took him gently into his embrace, holding him with wonder.

‘You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this,’ he said. ‘Was it all right? The echoes from your soul seem to suggest it was almost as lovely as mine was.’

‘Yes, lovely Jay, you’re brilliant, a natural,’ Gethin said, warmed by wings, covered with feathers. ‘Gorgeous, no idea what I’ve done to deserve you, best Christmas ever... bloody amazing Christmas angel, you.’

‘You say the sweetest things,’ Blake said, lifting away from the bed and leaving Gethin cold, suddenly, lonely. The angel smiled and leaned over to kiss his lips in a slow, friendly embrace. ‘I wish I knew how to say back to you how much you’ve given me. Ah, well.’

He lifted up his wings and shrugged his shoulders forward to perform the acrobatics that enabled him to fold his wings away.

‘Right, news is on in ten minutes, oh, and you might want to be dressed when the phone rings, I don’t know, would it feel odd, talking on the phone naked?’

‘It’d depend who to, I suppose, but...’

But Blake was already dressing.

‘What the fuck’s going on, Jonathan?’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, not supposed to tell the future to humans but... twitchy, twitchy feeling... you’ll see. In a minute.’

Shaking his head, Gethin found his clothes and ran downstairs in time to see most of a news report on TV

_‘... hostel for homeless women in the early hours of the morning. Fire crews are still at the scene and the police are concerned for the safety of three of the young women who have not yet been accounted for. All three had rooms in the west of the building, where the conflagration was at its fiercest, if anyone should have information about the missing women...’_

‘What the fuck...? Is that Steph’s hostel...? And you knew? And you let her go back?’ 

Jonathan put a hand on Gethin’s shoulder.

‘Steady on, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you, sometimes it’s not clear. I just knew she had to stay last night... and then today, that feeling again... I told the driver to wait, I told him, he’d be paid extra for bringing her back, I’ve used his car before...’

The phone in the hall began to shrill.

‘I wanted her to stay longer, but I’d already pushed the limits of what I was supposed to do...’ 

Jonathan’s voice followed Gethin out into the hall as he lifted the phone.

‘Steph?’

‘Oh, God, Gethin, it’s... the hostel, it’s gone, it... a fire, and...’

‘Come back, Steph,’ Gethin said. ‘Get in your taxi and come here.’

‘I... nothing, Gethin, there were two other girls they haven’t found yet.’

‘Well, what’s the chances they were out for Christmas, too, eh?’

‘But that Susan in 215 next to me, right, always smoking in bed and... and...’

‘Your taxi still there, is it? Just get back into it, come home here.’

‘The police sent him away... and they want to talk to me and...’

At Gethin’s side, Jonathan was gesturing; it seemed to be that he was planning on going to get her in person.

‘Okay, tell them one of us is coming to meet you so you can’t go anywhere, right? Just stay put.’

Pips, and the line went dead. Gethin sighed, then noticed Jonathan, stripped to the waist and tying his shirt around his middle.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought there was time,’ he said. ‘Sorry, stupid of me... I should have set off in a taxi twenty minutes ago, I’d have been there now, but no, I thought there was time... so I’ll have to fly. Plausible, you see, it has to be believable. The first report of the fire was half an hour ago, on the radio, we were... well... So I could have heard and set off in a cab and when I got there it wouldn’t have looked like I’d known about it before it happened...’

‘But you did?’

‘No, well, sort of, something. Not what, though. So I can get there by flying just when a taxi would have if I’d heard on the radio; it’s foggy, nobody will see me, I can be with her in minutes.’

‘Is that all right, I mean...?’

‘Technically, it’s breaking the rules.’ Blake kissed him lightly before sliding the window up and easing through onto the fire escape. ‘But I won’t be seen, and she needs support. I’ll be back with Steph as soon as I can.’

‘You be careful, fog, and telegraph poles, and phone lines...’

But Blake was gone into the white morning, a golden sheen to the mist the only indication of his direction.

*

The news report had long finished. Gethin turned the TV off, wandered the flat in silence, prowling, brooding.

If Jonathan had heard about Steph’s hostel on the radio, he’d have been in a taxi, not flying. Not risking banging into whatever might be in his way, getting injured, not risking getting into trouble for having his wings out in public. And the only reason Jonathan hadn’t been listening to the radio was that he’d been listening to Gethin at the time...

So it was his fault Steph had to face this alone.

He forgot Jonathan was making up the lost taxi time and wallowed in the guilt until the ringing of the phone made him jump up out of his gloom.

‘Gethin? Steph, why didn’t you say Jonathan was on his way...? He’s sorted it all out, apparently they just wanted to know where I was, really, and where they can get in touch with me if... Judith who runs the place turned up, she’s gutted, but she was swearing blind there was someone on the phone all evening until ten, it was only when Jonathan said, he was there, he knew we’d tried ringing that she backed off a bit... it wasn’t her working, she’d left someone else in charge...’

She babbled and gabbled and Gethin made reassuring noises when he had chance. Finally, Gethin heard another voice in the background.

‘Steph, let me, a minute... Gethin, it’s me. All sorted, Steph’s coming back with me, the taxi’s on its way.’

‘You got there okay, then? No trouble.’

‘Everything’s fine,’ Jonathan said. ‘We’ll be home soon.’

*

The fog was lifting when Gethin heard the downstairs door open. He put the kettle on and went to open the flat, anxious. Steph’s face was wan and lost, 

Jonathan smiled reassuringly.

‘In you come,’ Gethin said. ‘Steph, are you okay?’

She dropped onto the sofa.

‘It’s not as if I was there long,’ she said. ‘Didn’t like the other girls much. Mostly running away from bad husbands and boyfriends, or nasty dads. All of them straight.’ A sigh. ‘Ambulance came while I was there. So they must have found... found someone. No sirens, that’s bad, right? No sirens means they know it’s too late, no hurry. It’ll be that Susan in 215, I bet. And Alice, she’s the other one missing, nobody’s seen her... and... and... it could have been me, oh, God, I keep thinking...’

Jonathan sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders as she trembled and struggled to control her tears.

‘Well, it wasn’t,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’m jolly glad of it. And I bet Gethin is too, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, course,’ Gethin said, shrugging, uneasy with a girl crying. ‘I’d have to get someone else in the shop, and good help’s hard to find these days...’

Steph’s sob was almost a laugh.

‘That’s better,’ Jonathan said. ‘So, as you’re going to be here for a few days. I’ll get the rest of my bits and pieces out of the guest room for you. The last thing you want is my stuff in the way.’

‘Room in my wardrobe for your things,’ Gethin said, as if it wasn’t a big thing that Jonathan was moving into his bedroom. ‘Anything you want help shifting, let me know.’

Blake wasn’t gone long, and when he came back he had his box of mementoes with him. He set it down on the coffee table.

‘I wasn’t quite sure where this could go, though,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to just clear off the top of your dressing table, Gethin...’

‘We can find somewhere safe for it later, perhaps.’

‘What’s this stuff?’ Steph asked, her brow drawing together in the sort of scowl that happens when someone is trying not to cry, to think of something else.

‘Ah, now, I’m glad you asked,’ Jonathan said, with a smile at Gethin. ‘This is my box of treasures, this is. All the things that matter to me, I know, they look like bits of rubbish, don’t they? Well, everything has a story behind it... you see this button...?’

And he was off on one of his stories, telling Steph about the coat the button came from and how it averted disaster for a pregnant woman...

Gethin smiled, brewed tea, made coffee. It was exactly what Steph needed, a bit of random Jonathan to distract her... Jonathan seemed to need it, too, the reassurance he drew from going through his things, as if not everything was quite as all right as he was making out.

It had better be all right.

Nobody had better try to say Jonathan had done anything wrong by flying in daylight.

But suddenly Jonathan wasn't the only one who got twitchy-twitchy feelings.


	16. Roscoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a visitor...

‘So, that’s my stuff and some of its stories,’ Jonathan said with a smile an hour or so later, setting the box back on the coffee table. ‘Gethin found a lovely little cupboard sort of thing for us to do up, to keep everything safe in, I say, Steph, you didn’t have much at the hostel, I hope?’

She shrugged. ‘Bag of clothes, brought everything valuable with me. I’m not stupid, I know people there can pick the locks, and there’s some girls got nothing... don’t put temptation and all that.’

‘Very wise. I suppose you can always nip out and get something...’

‘Christmas Sunday, tomorrow’s Boxing Day,’ Gethin pointed out. 'Everywhere's closed.'

‘Not quite everywhere, it isn’t,’ Blake answered.

‘It’s okay,’ Steph said. ‘I can manage, wash things through.’

‘Can lend you a tee shirt at least, if you need to.’

‘Thanks. All right, then.’

‘I don’t know about anyone else,’ Blake said, bouncing up from the sofa in abrupt change of mood, ‘but I’m starving! Plenty of cake left, anyone else want some?’

*

The afternoon passed in rubbish television and mindless snacking. Gethin kept an eye on Steph, but he didn’t know why; how were you supposed to feel when the place you were staying burned down? And was that feeling qualified by the fact that you knew you had a flat of your own waiting in a few days? And was it made worse by losing your clothes to fire, and what about the guilt of not dying when other girls did...?

Still, she seemed okay. Bit quiet, every now and then, but that was to be expected, wasn’t it? Bound to be a shock.

‘I say, Gethin... have we told Steph about the party yet?’

‘Party?’ Steph latched on to Jonathan’s words as if they were a lifeline. ‘When? What sort of party?’

‘Ah... we didn’t sort out when, not quite yet...’ Gethin put in. 

‘Fancy dress, themed around the Nativity,’ Jonathan said. ‘I don’t know when, what’s best?’

‘Not Friday, New Year’s Eve, it’ll be manic out, nobody’ll be able to get taxis...’

‘Oh. Will Thursday be better, then? Or Saturday?’

‘No buses Saturday. And people’ll still be hung over.’

‘Thursday, then,’ Jonathan said. ‘I’d better get started on the guest list and invitations, I suppose.’

‘Is that it, are you going to have time to get it all sorted?’ Steph asked.

Gethin shrugged.

‘I’m letting Jonathan do all the hard work, his idea.’

‘Fab. Nativity? So...?’

‘Shepherds, magi, innkeepers, various farm animals.’ Gethin paused. ‘Heavenly host.’

‘I can just see you as an angel,’ Steph said, grinning.

‘Now, there’s a thought!’ Jonathan said. ‘I can help with the design, if you like, Gethin. And you too, Steph, if you have any thoughts?’

‘Well... can we bring it up to date a bit? I mean, is there any reason why the three magi have to be men?’

‘Probably because if they’d been wise women they’d have turned up with blankets and nappies, and the script wanted gold and frankincense and myrrh,’ Gethin said. ‘What do you think, Jonathan?’

‘Think it’s a fine idea, myself. Cup of tea, anyone? Vegetarian coffee, Steph?’

Steph yawned.

‘Either that or a lie down... shattered, sorry....’

‘It’s been a rough day for you,’ Gethin said. ‘Have a bath, if you like, and then see if you can sleep a bit.’

‘Sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, of course not. I’ll find you that tee shirt, a towel. And there’s Radox, help yourself.’

*

Not long after Gethin had heard the sound of water rushing down the waste pipes, signifying Steph was out of the bath, came a knock – no, a hammering – on the outer door.   
Blake jumped, something furtive and frightened in his manner that had Gethin surging with defensive anger.

‘It’s probably Roscoe,’ the angel said, sinking into himself. ‘I was sort of expecting something...’

‘I’ll go,’ Gethin said, pressing his hand on Blake’s shoulder in reassurance. ‘My bloody flat... you stay here.’

He kept his anger in his mind, ready to use it if he had to, all the way down the stairs and to the front door, nodding recognition as he unlocked and found, yes, Roscoe there.

‘Can I come in? I need to talk to Blake.’

‘You can’t, he’s busy.’

‘Not too busy to talk to go flitting about by day and night, though, is he? I know he’s in there. Go on, let me in.’

‘Not a chance. We’ve got a guest – a human guest who doesn’t know what he is. Or what you are, though I’m not sure of that myself, anyway, it’d be a very bad idea...’

‘Do you know what he’s been up to, do you? Broad daylight, brazen as you please, wings out, flying, across London? Oh, you’ve no idea how much trouble he could be in if he was seen...’

‘Nobody saw him, there was thick fog at the time, why would anyone see him? I don’t understand, thought you lot were supposed to help... that’s all Blake was doing, helping a girl who was homeless, had to get there in a hurry, don’t get your feathers in a twist...’

‘Shhhh, shush, And... and he’s got to stop pestering the archangels, they haven’t got time for his nonsense...’

‘They seem happy enough to talk to him. Who was it he said...? Yuri and Mikey? And the other one, Rafe?’

‘Hush, don’t, if they hear... yes, okay, they’re okay chaps, considering. But they haven’t got time to waste on daft questions, they’re busy...’

‘So are we. Merry Christmas, Roscoe.’

‘No, you don’t understand, I have to talk to Blake...’

‘Told you before – organ grinder, remember?’

‘Organ grinder, right.’ Roscoe shook his head. ‘Well, Blake’s and my organ grinder – who you’ve met – he’s a very different sort from Yuri’s one... and his is spitting blood and feathers that Yuri was late for a phalanx sweep the other night, and... look, really, just tell him, right, leave them alone and don’t – don’t – go asking any more stupid questions...’

‘Well, how’s he going to find anything out, then?’

‘Me, I can tell him what he needs to know.’

‘Oh, yes, right, of course you can... I remember you turned up talking about contamination and corruption, you know nothing about what we’re living with, what Jonathan’s doing to help, he said, you’re young, you don’t know a thing...’

‘Look, nobody sent me today, you know! I just heard what had happened and thought I’d better warn Blake. My friend Blake. Before the Highers get involved and it starts getting messy.’

‘No, didn’t know that.’ Gethin shrugged. ‘Thanks, then. I’ll warn him.’

‘Warn me about what?’

Blake had come down from the flat and stood behind Gethin, sliding his arms around his waist and cuddling in Gethin breathed in chocolate and spice, and relaxed. 

Roscoe stared.

‘You haven’t...? You didn’t...? Gah, your pheromones are so strong... So that’s why you wanted to talk to Yuri? Oh, you idiot!’

‘Please don’t call my cariad an idiot.’

Roscoe backed away, shaking his head, eyes glancing from Gethin to Blake and back again.

‘It’s more, though, isn’t it, not just... just? And... well, you can’t help your feelings, I suppose, humans, you’re just drawn to the energies we give off, but... Blake, you should have more restraint...’

‘I do have more restraint, Roscoe. I just... chose not to use it. This way is much nicer, believe me. It’s so much more fun to love them, to really let yourself feel the full range of emotional warmth...’

‘And the wings are something else,’ Gethin added. ‘Get in the way a bit, mind.’

‘Oh, so the human’s joking about wings now? Did you tell him that old story, Blake, put him up to it?’

‘Human’s got a name, you can call me Mr Roberts, thank you.’

‘No, really, wings.’ Blake said. ‘Bit surprised myself...’

Hands in his hair, Roscoe moaned.

‘But... you’re both... male...’

‘Oh, well spotted, Roscoe!’ Blake said.

‘No, I mean... the Highers, they’re not happy at the levels of... of interaction anyway, but it’s just... they’ll have a fit, Blake, they’ll be after your wings for this...’

‘It’s my understanding it’s a grey area,’ Gethin said. ‘And, as Blake pointed out to me, very convincingly, working in this community, there’s certain things he needs to know about, so, he’s just trying to do his job to the best of his ability. And if anyone tries anything, they’ll have to get past me first.’

‘Yes, that’s fine as far as it goes,’ Roscoe said. ‘But what about when you’re not there, when Blake’s working? Think about it.’

Gethin scowled.

‘I’d rather not,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, Gethin, it’ll be fine... Oh, Roscoe, while you’re here...’ Jonathan said, a glint in his eye, ‘I know you’re good at finding stuff. We need clothes for a young lady, well, a... actually, this tall, this wide...’

‘What?’

‘Size twelve, I'd say,’ Gethin supplied. ‘She’s lost everything except what she’s wearing. Just a change of clothes, jeans, not dresses or skirts, if you could?’

‘What am I, your personal shop assistant?’

‘You’re out and about, oh, and yes, you’re allowed to fly in daylight, as long as you watch where you take off. Go on, Roscoe,' Blake said. 'It’s not often I ask for an actual favour now, is it? Not one that requires you to actually do anything...?’

‘If you can get back within the hour,’ Gethin said, ‘I’m sure we can find you a mince pie or something by way of a thank you.’

‘Oh, very kind of you! I’ll see what I can do, then.’

*

‘I say, Gethin?’

The angel was standing near the window, looking out into the street.

‘Yes?’

‘When Roscoe comes back, would you mind if he came in? Up to the flat, that is. I... I can’t ask him, you see, being as I’m sort of your guest... and, well, I know he’s annoying, sometimes, but... he said... he said, I heard him say, ‘my friend Blake’, he said.’

‘Yes, if you like. I only didn’t let him in because that’s what I thought you wanted.’

‘It was, before. But... well, that was then. I have a feeling I’m going to need all the friends I can get. Oh, there – yes, here he comes... nice landing...’

‘I see him, shirt round his waist, jeans on...So... how come, Christmas Eve, you went off starkers...?’

‘I had to go into the Upper Airs; that’s where we change, lose human form and become energy, so clothes just evaporate, it’s a nuisance. If you’re just going into the Lower Skies, it’s all right. Of course, a shirt or that would get in the way when you furl and unfurl...’

‘I’ll let him in, you get the kettle on.’

Roscoe had a bundle tucked under his arm.

‘This is the best I could do, nowhere’s open.’

‘Thanks. Well? You coming in, or what? Cup of tea, bit of cake, all right?’

‘Really? Yes, great, thanks, only... instead of cake, could I have some toast? Hmm?’

‘I dunno, what is it with you lot and toast? Blake’s the same, honestly, I’ve got through more bread this last week with him here than I normally do in a month...’

‘I think it’s the crunch. And the warmth. And the melting butter, have you got butter, have you?’

‘Unless Jonathan’s used it all. Come on up.’

*

There being still quite a lot of butter left, Gethin had high hopes that at least some would be left for breakfast, although Roscoe fell to with a vengeance while Blake fed the toaster and shared the results.

‘Honestly, Jonathan, you haven’t stopped eating all day, where do you put it? Metaphysical stomach?’

Blake grinned, crunching, wiping butter of the corner of his mouth in a way that had Gethin wishing he could help.

‘It’s the combination of flavour and texture, smell and sound, it’s a complete eating experience. We feed on the energy streams, usually, up above the High Heavens, and it’s more... well, absorbing what you need. There’s no actual sense of enjoyment, not like with this. It’s even better than crisps.’

‘Crisps?’ Roscoe looked up hopefully. ‘Have you got crisps?’

‘Eat your toast,’ Gethin said. ‘And keep your voice down – we’ve a guest upstairs.’

‘The person you wanted the clothes for? I have to tell you, Blake, her GA’s hopping mad. He thought she was going to be dramatically rescued from her room, fireman’s lift and all that, and her Mum would see on TV and they’d be reconciled.’

Blake slumped.

‘You see?’ he said, turning to Gethin. ‘That’s how it is, all the time, I do something to help – and it’s not as if I’m interfering, I’m following the trails set out for me – and that’s what I get? Steph’s reconciliation with her Mum isn’t going to happen like that, it never was, never could. But that’s the thing with GA’s, no imagination, no flair...’

Roscoe nodded agreement. Blake went on.

‘Thing is, though, you try explaining to them your tasks manifest in hunches and feelings and they look at you as if you’ve got two heads... in fact, try explaining to anybody that you’re a direct instrument these days and they sneer...’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Gethin asked. ‘Direct instrument?’

‘It’s out of fashion now,’ Roscoe said. ‘Used to happen a lot more when you humans were more open to this sort of thing. We could – would – act as a channel for something else, the creative principle, if you like, the organising power... and just do what we felt was needed. These days, it’s all about, wise choices, best outcomes, logical progressions... if you can’t explain to a human how you knew they needed help, the theory is, you can’t help them that way. It’s very sad, you’ve lost your belief.’

‘That’s what you mean by, it has to be logical, then?’ Gethin asked Blake. 

The angel nodded.

‘It’s hard work, sometimes. Just having to happen to find myself in places... and I never really know what I have to do until it’s there. Like with pretty-boy Jeff. All I knew was he had to not go home on the train...and because of that, I was in the street in time to push him out of the way of that car.’ Blake’s forehead creased in thought. ‘Actually, Roscoe, that’s a fair point. I’m never told to get in the way of the GAs, I just get feelings, ideas, notions... and when I act on them, it changes other things... the biggest one...’ He broke off, looking furtive. ‘I must admit, Gethin, and please, don’t be cross... I only asked Steph for Christmas dinner so I’d be able to make a bit of a fuss about it, and... and I thought it might persuade you over the tree. I’d no idea that it’d lead to her not being in the hostel when the fire started, even though there was all that taxi business. It started with me wanting a Christmas tree...’

‘Oh, so that’s going to be it from now on, is it? Every time you get a daft idea, it’s going to be, don’t know if it’s a twitchy twitchy, or if it’s just you, wanting something, and if saying no is going to bugger up somebody’s day for them...’

Blake smiled and fluttered his eyelashes, actually fluttered his lashes.

‘Well, you’ll just have to let me get my own way all the time then, won’t you?’

Gethin grinned.

‘Not a chance,’ he said. ‘So, Roscoe, you coming to Blake’s party on Thursday night? Fancy dress, Nativity theme, come as you are, just... bring your wings, instant costume...’

‘Oh, don’t! We’re really not supposed to... Party? Can I?’

‘Why not?’ Blake said with a grin. ‘You can even help, if you like. Sort out beer and food and things. Oh, and if you see Yuri, invite him... if that’s all right with you, Gethin? He wanted to know what sort of a human it was could make me take all these risks, I’d like him to meet you...’

‘I suppose so, yes, you can tell him it’s from me.’

‘Oh, great! I’m supposed to pass on an invitation to an archangel, an archangel, no less, Uriel, no less...’

‘If it’s what Gethin wants, you can. A request from a human, we can’t refuse them.’

‘Really?’ Gethin asked, grinning. ‘Thanks for saying, I’ll remember that. More tea, anyone?’

‘No, thanks,’ Roscoe said. ‘But... if there’s any more toast...?’


	17. Yuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin meets Yuri...

Steph surfaced about an hour later, while Roscoe was polishing off a large slice of Christmas cake and another cup of tea. 

‘Steph, this is Roscoe, a friend of mine,’ Jonathan said. ‘He has contacts everywhere... Gethin asked him to find some things for you, here you are.’

‘For me?’ Steph accepted the bundle and began to explore its contents. ‘Thanks... I think...’

‘It was the best I could do, almost everywhere was shut...’ Roscoe said as Steph held up garment after unsuitable garment. ‘The only things I could find were for, well... larger ladies...’

‘Older, too, from the look of things,’ Gethin said. ‘Still. While your own things are drying, you don’t need to go anywhere in them, do you?’

‘Oh, thank you very bloody much, had to go all the way to Leicester to find a community that didn’t celebrate Christmas and had a clothes shop open and is that the thanks I get...?’

‘Leicester?’ Steph scratched her head. ‘Did he say just Leicester?’

‘Yes, but he might have meant... Luton,’ Jonathan said. ‘You never know, do you, how these places get such similar names... anyway. Hope they’ll do.’

‘Grateful for the effort and all that... ta.’

‘Vegetarian coffee,’ Gethin said, setting a mug in front of her. 

‘Cheers.’

‘Well, thanks again, Roscoe,’ Jonathan said, tipping his head towards the door in a blatant hint for his friend to leave. ‘Don’t let us keep you, I know you’ve got places to go, things to do... invitations to deliver...’

‘As a matter of fact, I... Oh. Right. Well, glad to have helped.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ Gethin said.

At the street door, Roscoe shrugged. ‘Thanks for asking me in; you probably don’t know what a difference it makes. Unless Blake’s been blabbing about how cold it is outside phalanx...’

‘Grateful for your help for Steph, Roscoe.’

The angel nodded.

‘Not sure I’m going to be able to deliver your invitation to the archangels, mind. Can be difficult to get near them for the likes of me... still, I’ll try.’

‘Don’t worry; if the worst comes to the worst I’ll blaspheme and ask whoever turns up to pass the message on...’ He lifted his hands as Roscoe’s face had taken on a look of abject terror. ‘Joking, honest...’

‘You’d better be, you really, really don’t want the archangels’ Highers turning up, even if you are human and they have to love you, that doesn’t mean they have to like you...’

‘That bad, is it?’

‘Can be.’ Roscoe shrugged. ‘It’s okay for the archangels, they can just shrug it off... but the likes of me... and Blake...’

‘Wouldn’t want to stir things up for either of you,’ Gethin said quickly. ‘Well – fly safely, or whatever.’

‘Thanks – and I might be after Blake returning the favour, one of these days.’

*

Monday – formal Boxing Day – passed in another round of television, drinking and eating. Late afternoon, Gethin suggested going for a walk, but Steph, currently wearing some of Roscoe’s offerings while her own clothes dried, declined. ‘Don’t want to frighten anybody. Why don’t you two go?’

‘Well, if you don’t mind being in by yourself...’ Jonathan said. ‘I suppose you could always ring someone, if you wanted?’

‘No-one to ring,’ Steph said with a shrug.

It was good to get out in the fresh air of a cold, crisp afternoon, even if there wasn’t really anywhere to go except round the streets. But with Jonathan at his side, Gethin didn’t care where they walked.

They wandered around for half an hour or so as dusk fell over the quiet streets and shopfronts. Blake shivered suddenly.

‘Getting cold? Sorry, you ‘ve only got a thin coat...’

‘No, not cold, in fact, just... someone’s nearby.’

A few moments later as they passed an alley, there was a whumph! as of displaced air and a few moments later, a clear, refined voice cut through the now-deepening night.

‘Did somebody call?’

‘Fuck me,’ Jonathan muttered, ‘that’s Yuri’s voice...’

Turning, Gethin saw a tall figure emerge from the alley, buttoning up his shirt. He moved with a stalking grace, and as the light from the street lamp fell on chiselled features, keen emerald eyes, sharp cheekbones and shoulder length chestnut hair, Gethin found himself wondering how many admirers this chap had; stunning, he was, if you liked that sort of thing.

‘Might have been me, sorry, been talking about you and your friends a bit lately.’ No point being shy, and if this fellow was important enough that his boss didn’t like him mixing with the likes of Jonathan and Roscoe, Gethin had better make sure they didn’t get the blame for this encounter. ‘Gethin Roberts, human bookshop proprietor. You’re Blake’s friend Uriel, yes?’

‘That’s me. Except for the ‘friend’ part.’ Uriel spared Blake an amused glance. ‘Angels of our classes aren’t encouraged to be friends... Oh, do stop looking as if you’re waiting for the heavens to fall, Jonathan, it’s not that bad, whatever it is...! Gethin Roberts, aware human, friend to angels and... I would say... more than friend to one angel... what did you wish, human Gethin?’

‘Having a party Thursday night, you’ve been helpful to my friend, explaining things, wanted to invite you along by way of thanks, really. And... Rafe, is it? And Mikey, is that the other one? Bring them, too.’

Yuri burst out laughing.

‘Yes, yes, that’s us! Well, how utterly charming of you... no, it’s a kind thought... but I would have to speak to Raphael and Michael and see if they’re busy... you never know, there might just be a game of poker on somewhere... not that Rafe plays poker, actually... ‘

‘It’s fancy dress, Nativity theme.’ Gethin grinned, not quite sure why he wasn’t daunted by this imposing creature... possibly because his wings were furled, perhaps because he’d been kind to Blake. ‘Come as you are, if you like. Going to be a lot of shepherds, so plenty of scope for the other parts...’

Yuri laughed and shook his head. ‘Oh, Jonathan, you’ve found a charmer here, you lucky sod! Thank you kindly for the invitation, I will pass the word on, and, who knows? We might even take you up on it.’

‘Bring a bottle, if you like,’ Gethin said as the archangel turned to leave. ‘And a loaf, if you’re going to be wanting any toast...’

With another laugh and a wave of his hand, Yuri slipped into the alleyway again and was lost from sight.

Jonathan let out a shaky, shivery breath, and moved nearer to Gethin.

‘You all right, Jay?’ Gethin asked.

‘Yes. Just. Well. Him. Turning up like that. To speak to us. Well, you.’

‘Went rather well, I thought.’

‘Yes, yes it did, I suppose... I say, Gethin...?’

‘Yes, Jonathan?’

‘Do you think it’s quiet enough for us to hold hands on the way home? I think I’d like to, if it’s okay...’

And of course it was okay, Gethin wouldn’t have cared if it hadn’t been, this was Jonathan...

He slid his hand into Jonathan’s and gave his fingers a little squeeze. 

‘Course it is,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you home, you’ll be wanting tea and toast soon.’

*

Jonathan had recovered a little of his composure by the time they reached the flat, and after tea suggested he bring down the meat safe Gethin had given him for his mementoes, to do a little work on it.

‘That’s if you’ve got a bit of sandpaper lying around and nobody minds...?’ This last was directed towards Steph, who shrugged.

‘Why would I mind? Could give you a hand, if you like.’

So the three of them spent an hour sanding down and sprucing up the little cupboard until Jonathan declared it perfect.

‘Or it will be, after a fresh lick of paint. Thank you, Gethin, for finding it, Steph, for not worrying about your fingernails and getting stuck in.’

‘No problem. Here.’ She thrust something small and folded towards him. ‘For the collection.’

‘Thanks, Steph... your bus ticket! I’ll keep it safe and put it with the other things.’

‘Don’t think I ever heard the full story that goes with that one,’ Gethin said, wiping sandpaper dust off his hands.

‘Oh. Well. Put the kettle on, and we’ll tell you together over a brew...’

*

‘Work tomorrow,’ Gethin said around nine o’clock. ‘Don’t expect it to be busy, and I’m opening half an hour later, but I’d better go down and make sure everything’s in order.’

‘Any groups in?’ Jonathan asked.

‘No, tried to discourage them from meeting this week. First one is middle of next week, that political thing...’

‘That’s something, then, you’ll still have your evenings for a bit.’

Steph got to her feet. ‘Can I get a bath, Gethin? I’ve to be at this solicitor’s place in the morning...’

‘Yes, help yourself.’

‘And don’t worry, Steph,’ Jonathan told her. ‘I’ll come with you in a taxi, help you get sorted out and settled in, okay?’

‘Ta, that’d be great.’

*

Gethin entered the shop from the inner door and flicked on the lights. Truth was, he didn’t really need to do anything tonight, and he’d left it tidy anyway. But there was something about the place, empty and quiet, just the books and the weight of their words keeping them on the shelves, the way they lined up so neatly, as if to bring order and rationality to the sometimes-random lives of his customers. Because it was all very well to cast aside the socio-normative restrictions of imposed behaviours, but then what do you put in their place? Has to be something, doesn’t there, otherwise you’d just self-destruct...

‘I’ve never made love in a bookshop,’ a rich and beautiful voice said from behind him, and Gethin found his face lifting up into a smile.

‘Have you not, my Jay? Well, you need a bit more floor space than there is currently, and it’s probably best if neither partner has a pair of uncontrollable wings...’

Blake grinned and closed the distance between them, snuggling into Gethin’s arms to nuzzle at his neck.

‘I like how you call me that. Jay. It’s like it’s short for Jonathan, if anyone asks, but we know, don’t we, it’s about the wings... What about if we pushed the table out of the way...?’

‘What about if we went into the back room where there’s a bit more room? Or just contain yourself until bedtime?’

‘Not sure I can. Can you?’

‘Only if I have to.’

Silence, while Blake decided he needed to be kissed. Eventually:

‘I say, Gethin?’

‘What, Jonathan?’

‘Is it bedtime yet?’

‘Nowhere near, not with Steph around...’

‘You mentioned the back room...?’

About to shake his head and protest, Gethin realised he actually didn’t want to wait, that there was something about this quiet space that would be perfect...

There was more ceiling height than in the bedroom, for one thing...

‘Hold that thought,’ he said. ‘Just need to get something.’

Upstairs he grabbed pillows, the eiderdown, a few other things he thought – hoped – they might need, and hurried back down to the shop, latching the inner door from the hallway to stare and smile as he saw what Jonathan had been up to.

The angel had been busy. He’d pushed the table out from the centre of the room to between the overflow stock shelves at the back, clearing a much larger area of floor, and had taken the cushion from the chair behind the till and brought it through Seeing the bedding in Gethin’s arms, he grinned.

‘You’re way ahead of me there.’

‘Well. Brought the quilt as well, thought the floor might be a bit hard on your knees.’

‘On my knees? Why? What are you thinking...?’ He swallowed, perhaps glimpsing a glint in Gethin’s eye, perhaps reading his intent somehow in more mystical fashion. ‘Well, fuck me, Gethin...’

Gethin put his arms around him and looked up into the glorious dark eyes before switching out the light.

‘Thought you’d never ask, Jonathan,’ he said, linking his hands around his beautiful Jay’s neck.

‘What? Here? Now?’ 

Blake moistened his lips, making Gethin suddenly hungry, desperate. He said nothing, letting Jonathan get used to the thought.

‘Or not, if you don’t want. Wait for bed, might be more comfy for you. Just cuddle for a bit here, do the usual...’

Blake shook his head.

‘Oh, I haven’t been doing any of it long enough for it to be usual, Gethin-love...’

‘Feeling brave, then?’

‘Brave, excited, twitchy...’

‘Twitchy?’

‘Only a little bit. I’m sure it’s nothing, just a reaction to meeting... him... in the street like that.’ Jonathan smiled and began to untuck Gethin’s tee shirt from his jeans. ‘I could just do with something to take my mind off it... so... how are we going to manage this, then?’

‘Well, if you could be sure of keeping your bloody wings in your back...’

Blake pretended to pout, and kissed him.

‘Ah, now you know you don’t mean that...’

‘Yes, course I don’t mean that, gorgeous things they are...’ He unfastened Blake’s buttons, one by one, pushing the shirt from his shoulders and running his hands over the incredible double-layered muscles of his chest. ‘You’re going to have to have room at your back... else you’ll send me flying...’

‘Oh, I’ve been reading about this... so you want me to drive?’

‘No,’ Gethin laughed the suggestion away. ‘That’s my job, cariad, at least until you know what’s going on a bit.’

He let go of his angel to spread out the quilt on the floor, drop the pillows and kick off his shoes.

Jonathan was standing, simply watching him and Gethin felt a moment’s pause; he’d been thinking of what would be easier, yes, but also about what he liked, and belatedly realised he hadn’t sounded Blake out as to what his preferences might be...

‘Unless you’d rather not that way, Jonathan?’ he amended.

‘No, I was just... whatever, however, as long as there’s something... do we need the light on, though? It’s a bit harsh...’

Gethin flicked off the switch, and the room softened, lit by slices of orange light slatting in through the blinds from outside.

‘Better?’

‘Lovely. You’re all stripy, like a tiger. My tiger.’

‘My angel jay.’ 

Gethin stretched out a hand and hooked his fingers inside the waistband of Blake’s jeans, tugging him closer. The angel smiled and closed the little distance, undoing Gethin’s belt and zip and button, even as his own jeans were opened and pushed away and they dropped down onto the makeshift bed to discard the last remnants of clothing and wriggle around to get comfortable, mouths and hands and everywhere touching and wanting and needing...

Somewhere there was a tube of lube, mustn’t hurt his angel, take especial care first time out... in... but finding it was a distraction and he didn’t want to stop kissing, touching, but...ah, there it was...

Gethin fumbled for a moment while Blake kissed him, stroked over his groin, lingered his fingers... he reached around, under, seeking, felt Blake tense as his fingers brushed over the entrance to his body.

‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s fine, just a surprise, it’s nice, it’s... bloody hell, Geth, it is nice...!’

And Blake fell on his mouth as if he was desperate, starving, his hands everywhere, almost too much as he responded to Gethin’s touch... 

‘Here,’ Gethin grabbed one of Blake’s hands, squeezed lube into it. ‘Cover me with that, then, if you’re ready...’

‘Ready,’ Blake said, and from the feel of things, from how he moved against Gethin’s fingers, he really was, good job too, so was he... ‘Oh, Geth, ready... love how that feels, now, what...?’

‘Sit over me, that’s it...’ Easier to wriggle and shift under him than have Blake trying to get in the right place, but there, that would be it. ‘Here. That’s it. Slow now, take your time, just find your way... when you’re ready, yes, down a bit more... how’s that...?’

‘Not a bit like I thought it would be...’

Jonathan’s thighs were strong at Gethin’s sides as he sank lower onto his body, hot and close and the look of bliss on the angel’s face was almost enough in itself, but the heat and the tightness, the power in his thighs, his hands caressing Gethin’s body, the size and weight of Blake’s erection just waiting to be grasped and stroked...

‘When you’re ready, you can move, if you like. Take it easy, though.’

‘Like this?’ Blake pulled up, the muscles in his legs tensing as he lifted, hips rolling forward, and he threw his head back, exposing his gorgeous throat, his hair tumbling as he gasped. ‘Bloody hell, Geth...’

‘Yes, like that...’ 

And yes, bloody hell, bloody amazing, Blake’s erection in his hand huge and hard, and Gethin wondered what it might be like to let him into his body, to lie for him to push in, pull at his hips, pull back against him...

The air was suddenly heady and pungent with spice and chocolate pheromones, and Gethin’s head swam with the fragrance and the feeling and Blake gasping and moaning on top of him, wild now, abandoned to lust, riding hard.

‘Oh, fuck, Gethin, it’s just...’ 

Blake pushed down and cried out as he came, flooding Gethin’s hand with hot, sticky semen and his back exploded with feathers, his wings thrusting out and dragging him back and up, giving a final tilt and tip to the angle of his hips and tugging at Gethin’s erection, deep inside him, spasming around him and his own orgasm detonating as he thrust hard up into Blake’s body and crashed down again in a wash of pleasure with plumage scattering around the edges of his vision as Jonathan all but collapsed on top of him, his wings a gorgeous mantle covering them both.

‘Well, fuck me,’ Blake said, eventually.

Gethin smiled lazily under a haze of feathers.

‘What, again?’ he asked.


	18. A Spot of Bother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan sets out to bring home a dressing table...

When Blake pushed open the door of the bookshop on Tuesday afternoon and struggled in with a suitcase almost as big, and as weather-beaten, as himself, Gethin looked up from behind the counter and tried not to let his relief show.

‘Thought you’d be back hours ago, everything okay?’

‘Oh, fine, fine, yes... I’ll just leave this in the back room for now, shall I? And I’ll put the kettle on, if you like?’

‘That’d be great, I’ve had no lunch break.’

‘I... oh. Sorry.’

‘No, I didn’t mean... and the shop’s been quiet, just...’

In fact, it had been too quiet, a few customers but not enough to keep him busy, keep him from wondering if Blake was okay, or if he’d been intercepted by annoyed Highers. Whatever they might be...

‘Hang on there then, I’ll make you a sandwich for with your tea. Sorry, Gethin, didn’t mean to worry you...’ His voice faded as he headed through. ‘Had to help Steph settle in...’

Ten minutes later, he was back with turkey and stuffing sandwiches, a stack of mince pies and two slices of Christmas cake on a tray with a couple of mugs of tea which he set down at the little table on the far wall.

‘Here we are.’

‘Great, thanks.’ 

Gethin put the ‘back in ten minutes’ sign up and joined Blake at the table, falling on the food with a hunger he’d only lately felt for his angel friend.

‘So,’ he began, mouth stuffed with turkey. ‘What’s in the case?’

‘Oh, stuff Steph didn’t want – doesn’t think she’ll want, anyway. Because, wouldn’t you believe it, at the solicitor’s they told us it was somehow miraculously sorted and everything was mine to dispose of as I wished... So I told Steph, whatever you want, you keep...’ He paused for a moment to sip tea and ruminate over a piece of cake. ‘Then again, she thinks it my dead maiden aunt’s stuff and she might think I’m attached to some of the things, I suppose... anyway. There’s a sewing machine, and a couple of bits of fabric, and some things she thought I’d want, bless her... the dead lady’s jewellery, actually, it is rather pretty, a lot of it... thing being, the sewing machine will be ever so useful for costumes for the party... Oh, and we were going to go dancing between Christmas and New Year, when do you want to go?’

‘Um...’

‘Tonight? Oh, but first day back in the shop, you might have stuff to do... besides, I want to set up the sewing machine, can I? Kitchen table, perhaps? Oh, and there’s a gorgeous chair, Steph says it’s dated, so I’m going to see about a van to bring it over some time, anyway, can I?’

‘Kitchen table, sewing machine, yeah.’

‘Thank you.’ 

Blake settled down to his tea and cake, giving Gethin a few moments to eat in peace. But it didn’t last.

‘I say, Gethin?’

Gethin nodded, gestured him to continue.

‘Now that Steph’s gone, that bedroom’s empty again... but... I was thinking... would it be all right if... if I stayed in with you? it’s a much nicer bed, especially with you in it.’

There just wasn’t a gesture to convey, don’t be daft, of course you can stay in my room, share my bed, it’s lovely having you there, just don’t be hogging the covers all the time, right? so Jonathan had to wait until Gethin had swallowed his mouthful of food before he could reassure him that, yes, he was welcome to share his room, his bed.

‘And dancing tomorrow night, perhaps?’

‘Love to,’ Blake said, grinning his happy grin and daring to lean forward to kiss Gethin on the cheek. ‘Nobody here, it is okay, isn’t it, to kiss you when there’s nobody watching?’

‘Yes, it’s fine, best not get carried away, though. Better open up again.’

‘Okay. Give me a shout if you get busy, won’t you? I’ll just take this case upstairs and sort out a bit.’

And although there were only a couple more customers all afternoon, it didn’t matter any more, the time didn’t drag, because Gethin knew Blake was upstairs, home safe, and waiting.

*

The sound of rapid-fire clattering greeted Gethin as he opened the door to the flat sometime later. The racket was accompanied by a loud, clear baritone he recognised as Blake’s voice, and he wondered if the singing would always accompany the sewing and if so, whether he ought to invest in some ear plugs... he loved Blake’s voice, he really did, but not when it was competing with a shouting sewing machine...

_‘Ohhh... the sewing machine, the sewing machine, a girl’s best friend, if I didn’t have my sewing machine I’d’ve come to no good end...’_

Both noise, and song, stopped abruptly as Jonathan noticed Gethin in the doorway.

‘Why, exactly, Jonathan?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, fuck me, it’s just a song from an old musical...’ He laughed as Gethin grinned. ‘I know, sorry, bit loud...’

‘What, you or the machine, or its paint job?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, turquoise, nice, bright colour... I know someone with wings that colour, two pairs, stacked, upper set were more duck-egg... what was his name, now...? Never mind, great little machine, look!’

He fiddled with the mechanisms and released the fabric he’d been stitching to hold up what looked like a dressing gown in vertical stripes.

‘It’s going to be my Shepherd costume...’

‘You got on fast, well done.’

‘Yes, I’ve had a few thoughts about your wings... if you’ve got some spare wire coat-hangers we can undo, they’ll make a great framework...’ 

The evening passed in food and costume design, Jonathan drawing sketches and suggesting possibilities until the basics of a fine set of wings – ‘not to scale, I’m afraid, there isn’t safely room...’ was planned and the framework put in place. Jonathan announced he knew a couple of places where he could get some suitably fluffy fabric to resemble feathers ‘...because, after all, you don’t want to be too accurate, do you?’

Around ten pm, Gethin suggested clearing away. 

‘Work tomorrow, after all.’

‘Don’t forget Steph’s coming in after lunch...’

‘Yes, that’s why I need to go to bed, if you’re out and about tracking down stuff for costumes I’m going to be on my own in the shop for a bit.’

‘Well, why don’t I put all this stuff on the spare bed, so it’s easy to get to, but out of the way?’

‘Okay, good plan.’

In the bedroom – his bedroom, albeit one he was prepared to share – Gethin halted in the doorway, stunned by what he saw. His modest collection of bits and pieces had been shunted off his chest of drawers onto the bedside table, while the space thus cleared had been populated – no, crowded – with stuff. A fake hand and forearm from a shop mannequin and a display head for a wig were arranged to suggest a woman emerging from the chest of drawers, probably hampered by the little trinket boxes all around. Strings of fake pearls and plastic beads dripped from the fingers, two watches (one gold, one marcasite) were fastened around the wrist while several necklaces had been clasped about the throat of the wig stand, and little pools of beads suggested more necklaces. The stand was topped, not by a wig, but by Jonathan’s black beret worn at a racy angle.

‘I say, Gethin...? You’ve gone awfully quiet, Tiger, I say...?’

Gethin didn’t say anything, just stared at the mosaic of costume jewellery on his – his – chest of drawers...

‘You do remember me calling you Tiger...?’ Blake’s voice was soft. ‘Last night, the stripes from the street through the blinds. You liked it.’

‘Course I remember, I liked it, just...this...’

‘Well... It’s a bit cluttered, I know, but Steph says there’s a huge dressing table I can bring back, lovely it is, teak, fabulous mirror, it’d just go where the drawers are, then they can go over there against that wall... If... if you agree... thought I’d better check first... but you can see there is a need for some more storage...’

Gethin shook his head. What possible use could Jonathan have for any of this stuff, why would he want it? It wasn’t as if he’d known the old lady whose flat it had been – or had he? But even so, one thing usually served as a memento for him, not a suitcase full of tat...

Then it clicked, and he couldn’t help himself, he laughed.

‘Gethin...?’

And laughed, and hugged Blake close, still giggling even as the angel patted his shoulders and hugged him back, bewildered.

‘Bloody Jay, you!’ he said, when he could talk. ‘Jay Angel Blake, all the shiny...!’

‘Well, as I say, Steph worried these were my aunt’s things, and I couldn’t find a way to deny it... she felt awful about it, and it really made her feel better when I said, well, yes, perhaps... I put the handbags in the wardrobe in the other room to go through when I’ve time, but...’

‘H...handbags...?’

Still hugging him, Jonathan shrugged.

‘Steph says, a woman’s life is in her handbags; it’s a little bit of history. Social commentary...’

‘Well, as long as the handbags comment in the spare room, that’s okay.’ Gethin eased out of the hug to examine the jewellery more closely. 

The marcasite watch looked old, not a modern copy, and the gold watch wasn’t much more recent. Most of the stuff was just cheap, but one or two good pieces lurked amongst the flotsam. ‘Did you know her?’

‘Hmm? A little... she was one of many old people who didn’t have anyone to pass anything on to but wanted to help someone, if she could. There’s a whole choir...’

‘Choir?’

‘...group of angels – whose job it is to match up these last wishes with needy people. Of course, I only met her after she was dead, explained about Steph, she said it sounded lovely... so the choir boys pushed it through.’

‘You met her after...?’

‘Well, before would have been awkward, think about it? Hello, you’re dying, can my friend have your flat, please...? Doesn’t sound so good, really...’

Gethin shook his head...

‘It can’t stay here like this,’ he said.

‘Geth...’

‘...you’d better sort out that dressing table, all right? Mention it to Steph tomorrow, p’raps.’

*

Steph arrived just before two the next afternoon. She looked tired, but buoyant as she took her place next to Gethin.

‘Afternoon, boss,’ she said.

‘Early, I like that. How’s the flat?’

‘Great, it’s not far from the bus, or the tube, and there’s a park that doesn’t seem too full of winos... couple of little shops nearby, yeah, it’s all right. Just a studio, really, but own kitchen and bathroom. Well, shower, fitted out for the old lady I think...’ She paused to glance about.  
‘Jonathan around?’

‘Upstairs. He’s been shopping for costume fabric this morning.’

‘Good. Well... I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but... the flat’s okay, it just smells of old lady and it’s full of all this junk he calls furniture, and...’

‘And his aunty had rubbish taste and you want rid?’

‘Well. Yeah. And Jonathan’s said, if anything’s in my way... except it’s going to end up in your way...’

‘He’s already persuaded me we need your dressing table, and there’s a chair he’s got his eye on...?’

‘You don’t mind? It’d be fab if you would, only... I feel a bit... his aunty, though...’

‘I don’t think they were really very close,’ Gethin said. ‘Shouldn’t worry too much about it.’

*

Jonathan clumped down the stairs at around 4 pm with a tray of tea, coffee and snacks. He smiled winningly at Steph.

‘If it’s all right with you, my friend Roscoe is borrowing a van and he’ll pick us up here at closing time, drive over to yours, and collect the chair and the dressing table, how does that sound?’

‘It sounds like a lift home, thank you, Jonathan.’

‘Gethin, you could come with us? For the ride?’

‘Thanks, but I’ll pass. Need to make some space for this dressing table, ready for when you get back.’

‘It shouldn’t take more than an hour...’

‘In rush hour?’ Steph pointed out.’

‘...or two,’ Blake amended, but to Gethin’s eye he didn’t look particularly bothered. ‘We can still go out dancing after...’

‘Okay, let me know when you’re on the way back if you like.’

Roscoe pulled up outside in a battered grey van at five to the hour.

‘I thought if I was early there might be some toast,’ he called from the doorway.

‘When you get back,’ Gethin told him. ‘See you later... Jonathan?’

He put out a hand to slow his angel as Steph went out to the van, an uneasy feeling suddenly rolling over him like thunderclouds.

‘Hmm?’

‘Mind how you go, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. Why, what’s up?’

‘I dunno.’ Gethin shrugged. ‘Twitchy-twitchy, I suppose.’

‘Oh, hold on now, I’m the angel, remember?’ Blake grinned and gave him a quick hug as Roscoe and Steph both called for him to get a move on. ‘See you later, Tiger.’

Gethin waved them off and went through his end-of-day routine, taking his time to make the emptiness seem less forbidding, trying to shake off his sense of foreboding. After all, they were only moving a sodding dressing table and a stupid chair, where was the danger in that?

To distract himself, and to save time later, he moved his small chest of drawers to the spot Jonathan had suggested for it, careful not to  
disturb the carefully-arranged jewellery as he did so. It looked a little forlorn, out of the way in the corner, but more worrying was the accumulation of bits and pieces on the floor where it had been.

He shook his head, wondering how so many bits of paper and odd coins had ended up there, against the skirting board in nests of dust... 

Still, picking up and hoovering the edge kept him from fretting for at least another ten minutes.

*

By the time it got to seven thirty, and the phone hadn’t rung, he found himself standing at the window looking out into the street, watching, waiting...

Ten to eight, there was the van, pulling round the corner to halt furtively on the double yellows outside. Gethin hurried down to help.

‘Jonathan?’ he asked, as Roscoe alone emerged.

‘He got called away, so it’s just me... give us a hand? And you promised me some toast?’

‘You’re going to leave that there, then, just parked any old how?’

‘Well, it’s not as if I need to worry about a ticket... let’s get the chair out first, there’s no weight to it, hardly, just a wicker thing, it’s the dressing table that’s the killer...’

Together they unloaded the van and began moving things upstairs. As well as the dressing table, its mirror wrapped separately and the wicker peacock chair, there were a couple of bags which Gethin eyed mistrustfully as Roscoe brought them in.

‘Jonathan said to tell you not to worry, it’s just a few things out of Steph’s way... okay, ready for the dressing table? How are you at going backwards, or shall I?’

‘No, it’s fine, come on, then.’

The dressing table sat in its allotted space as if it had always been intended for that very position along the wall; the peacock chair looked a little out of place in the sitting room, but no doubt Gethin would get used to it. For Jonathan, he thought he could get used to anything, even being called ‘Tiger’... the thought made him smile as he put the kettle on and fed the toaster.

Half way through his third piece of toast, Roscoe dropped it as though it scorched him, lifting his head as if concentrating on something at the edge of hearing.

‘What’s up?’ Gethin asked.

‘Not sure. Jonathan... something...’ Roscoe shook his head, got to his feet. ‘Thanks for the toast, I’d better go... except... you do know how it works, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean, how what works?’

‘Well, I can’t just butt in if there’s something going on with Blake... but if a human asked me to help, then I’d have to, do you see?’

‘I see, Roscoe, where’s Jonathan got to? Can you find him for me, and if he needs help, help him? And bring him home to me. Does that cover it?’

‘Just about.’ Roscoe grinned and snatched up his abandoned toast, stuffing it into his mouth as he headed out of the door. ‘See you later.’

‘Just bring him back safe, okay?’

*

It was almost an hour later when Gethin saw the van sweep around the corner in an untidy sort of careful hurry. For whatever reason, too, Roscoe reversed up the pavement over the kerb, bringing the back of the van as close to the outer door as possible. As Gethin yanked open the street door, he was startled to see Yuri, about to knock and with a dangerous furrow on his forehead, a gleam in his eye.

‘So that you know; this was not done with my knowledge, or with my consent, and I will be protesting through proper channels.’

‘What’s happened? Oh my...’

Yuri’s hand shot out to fasten over Gethin’s mouth.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Do not. You really don’t want anyone to respond to use of the name of the deity at this moment in time.’

The squeal of the hinges as Roscoe opened wide the back doors on the van, Yuri reaching in, Jonathan’s voice, cross and somehow faded.

‘I’m all right, really, what have you been saying...? I say, Gethin? Is that you?’

‘What’s going on?’

And Jonathan emerged from the van in a bundle of bloody wings and twisted feathers.

‘Ran into a spot of bother,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Sewing Machine Song', from the musical 'The Perils of Pauline', 1947; you can Google or Youtube it, but beware; it's a bit of an ear worm, you might not thank me...


	19. 'Worth it, Just For That...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gethin finds out what happened to Jonathan...

Gethin gritted his teeth around the questions that thronged him and took hold of Jonathan’s arm, pulling him inside, knowing something was wrong, unable to see what. Roscoe and Yuri stayed outside.

‘Um...?’ Roscoe ventured. ‘You have to ask me in, remember?’

‘What, every single time...? Sorry Yuri, Roscoe, come in, shut the door.’

It closed with a slam and now concealed from the street, Jonathan straightened up, tried to shake his feathers into place on his wings, but although many went back to their proper alignment, more than a few still looked warped and wrong. Blake tried to smooth his leading edge with his free hand but stopped almost immediately.

‘Ow,’ he said.

‘What happened?’ Gethin asked. ‘How hurt are you?’

‘Not bad, really. They were very careful...’

‘Careful? What...? Look, can you manage the stairs? Flat’s open.’

‘Just a couple of flesh wounds, I’ll be fine in a few days.’

‘What do you mean, careful?’

At the top of the stairs Gethin had to relinquish his steadying hand so that Jonathan had space to get through the door without fouling his wings on the door frame.

‘He was targeted,’ Yuri said. ‘For which, in part, I feel responsible. I’ll explain presently; for now, Blake is feeling the cold...’

‘The gas fire’s on, help yourselves to anything, I’ll get him a blanket or something.’

He brought the eiderdown from the bed and the paisley dressing gown Jonathan had appropriated, thinking to wrap the quilt around Jonathon’s torso and drape the wings with the dressing gown, but Yuri forestalled him.

‘No, we don’t want anything pressing on the feathers until they’ve been washed and dried; many are twisted and could become seriously misaligned if we’re not careful.’

‘Okay.’ Gethin helped Jonathan to sit on a kitchen chair, sideways so his wings didn’t catch, and pressed the eiderdown to his chest; Blake grasped it, held it tightly in place with a smile, but there was a grey tint to his face that was worrying. ‘Here, cariad, what else do you need?’

‘Cup of tea’d be nice.’

‘And if you’ve got some first aid materials, hot water, clean cloths, thank you,’ Yuri said.

Kettle on first. Gethin saw Roscoe eyeing the toaster and waved at the breadbin.

‘Help yourself,’ he said, placing a bowl of hot water and the first aid kit on the table. ‘Do you need a hand, Yuri?’

‘If you mean, do I know what I’m doing, don’t worry, dear soul; I’m good with basic wing care...’

‘Is anyone ever going to tell me what bloody happened?’ Gethin returned to the task of tea-making, ashamed to see his hands shaking as he tried to spoon sugar into Jonathan’s mug. ‘You were only supposed to be gone an hour...’

‘You know I told him he shouldn’t be bothering the archangels?’ Roscoe said, shoving bread into the toaster. ‘And about getting his wings out in daylight, yeah?’

‘I remember... and...?’

‘Well, Jonathan was heard talking to Yuri last night, and...’

‘In fact,’ Yuri interrupted, his voice clipped, wringing out a cloth and applying it to a patch of bloodied feathers on the leading edge of Blake’s left wing, ‘I was talking to him. But my phalanx misunderstood and assumed I had been accosted. Several of my fellow angels then embarked upon a punitive action to impress that I am not to be interrupted... but it was done without my knowledge or consent and, I hope, that of my Highers, too...’

‘Can they do that? Can you just do that? I thought you were supposed to help...’

‘You humans, yes. Amongst ourselves... well, we are the Kindred Brethren, and you know how siblings squabble at times...’

Gethin finished the tea and brought Blake’s mug over, handing it to him across the table.

‘Are you all right, Jay?’ he asked.

Blake’s mouth worked in what was trying to be a smile.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, which wasn’t what Gethin had asked. 

‘Milk and two sugars in mine,’ Yuri said. ‘Thank you. This...’ He gestured to Blake’s wings. ‘It was only intended to make things difficult for him, not to cause any real pain or injury; He’s not supposed to have his wings visible where he can be seen by the public, but these wounds, though slight – really, they are slight, you should see some of the things I’ve seen – stop him from furling. Which means, of course, that the risk of Blake being seen in all his questionable glory is considerably increased, and therefore his chances of getting into really serious trouble too...’

‘Look, glad of your help and all, but Blake’s wings are gorgeous, don’t you be saying things like that about his wings, okay?’

‘Lucky for me they didn’t know I have an aware human for a friend, isn’t it?’ Blake said with an echo of his usual smile. ‘If I hadn’t had somewhere to go... it’s bloody cold out tonight, too!’

‘I’ll warm you up later,’ Gethin said with a smile.

‘Promise?’

‘Oi, watch it!’ Roscoe protested. ‘Honestly, you two...’

‘Nice hot water bottle, that’s all I meant... how’s that toast coming?’

‘Good, the first pieces were all right...’

‘Could you make some for Blake and Yuri, do you think?’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘There.’ Presently Yuri stood back and wiped his hands. ‘Just about done... most of the feathers have settled back into place, a few are lying badly still, nothing that shouldn’t realign down once you’ve washed you wings out, Blake – not today, though, you need to give those rips time to close up.’

‘Thanks.’ Jonathan let his breath out in a rush and dipped his head. ‘Thank fuck that’s over.’ He clasped his hands around his mug and looked across the table at Gethin. ‘I heal quickly, you know I do; do you want to see?’

‘If it won’t hurt you.’ Gethin came close to look at the damaged patches on Blake’s wings. Several parallel scratches furrowed through the skin and flesh between and around the feathers on each wing reminded him vaguely of sergeant’s stripes. 

‘Settling down a bit now,’ Jonathan said. ‘Should be all better by Friday, furled by Saturday... oh.’

‘What’s up now?’ Roscoe asked.

‘The party. It’s tomorrow.’

‘Cancel it,’ Roscoe said with a shrug.

‘I can’t, all the invitations have gone out... I say, Gethin? Is this what it’s like to be human, worrying about stuff like this all the time?’

‘Maybe, a bit. Probably not for the same reasons. Look, don’t worry about that now, we can sort something out. Come on, come and sit by the fire, bring your chair, if you like.’

‘Oh, you got the peacock chair in, well done! And the dressing table?’

‘In place, mirror’s attached, just waiting for you to decorate it.’

‘Thank you.’ Jonathan got up, dragged his chair through to reposition it near the fire. ‘Really, I’m all right, just the furl mechanism’s out of action, as it were. And it’s a bit sore, but if you’ve ever been scratched by a cat, it doesn’t feel any worse than that, really...’

Gethin peered at Blake’s wing where a trace of red was seeping out into the beige feathers again.

‘What sort of a cat, exactly? A tiger?’ he said, making Blake laugh. 

‘Really, Gethin, I’ll be fine. Lucky I’ve got you, though...’

Yuri had been drinking his tea and looking around, giving them a little time. His eyes wandered through to doorway to the hall, lit on the Christmas tree on its stand. 

‘May I take a closer look at the tree?’ he asked. ‘I barely noticed on the way in... Does that...? Is that supposed to be an angel? With wings like Blake’s?’

‘Yes, we discussed the pros and cons of having a Christmas tree, and, well, seemed right, somehow. Besides, beautiful, Jonathan's wings.’

‘Very artistic!’ Yuri’s smile at Blake was tolerant. ‘You seem to have got yourself a good friend there, Blake. I’d better go, I suppose – there’s going to be a lot of discussion in the Upper Airs tonight...! Roscoe, I might need your voice, too.’

‘But Gethin might need me here to make toast for him...’

‘Think I can manage toast, thanks,’ Gethin said in reassuring tones. ‘No, you go and do what you can to sort this out for Blake...’

‘Oh, well, NOW I’m going to have to, of course...!’

‘Come, then, Roscoe. Gethin, I’ll return tomorrow to see how Blake’s getting on...’

‘If you could make it before eleven or after three, my assistant will be in otherwise, and she doesn’t know about Jonathan... unless you just want to show up at party time?’

‘Thank you... I’ll try to be in earlier than that.’

‘I’ll try to get here around tea time,’ Roscoe said. ‘You wanted me to help, remember?’

‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ Yuri said. ‘Roscoe! Put down the toast and come along.’

*

‘Sorry about all this,’ Jonathan said once the sound of the van’s engine had receded and Gethin had been down to lock up. ‘If I’d known...’

‘How are you feeling? Really?’

‘Really?’ Blake gave a minimalist shrug that deteriorated into a shiver. ‘Bit sore, just aching. Bloody freezing...’

‘Want more tea?’

The angel lifted his chin, staring towards the cupboards.

‘Got any cocoa? And you mentioned a hot water bottle...?’

‘Good idea. Do you want to go up, get into bed and I’ll bring it? Should I help you up the stairs?’

‘No, I’ll manage. It’s just a couple of scratches on my wings, the rest of me’s in perfect working order...’

‘Glad to hear it, cariad.’ 

Gethin grinned and got on with making cocoa, and boiling the kettle to fill the hot water bottle. Jonathan had laughed, at least, so maybe he really was okay...

He carried a tray upstairs, the hot water bottle overheating him where it was clenched between his arm and his ribs, so that he was glad to set down the tray and grab it by the cooler neck.

‘Oh, you’re not pinching my side of the bed tonight, then?’ he said with a grin, wrapping the bottle in a towel and passing it over. ‘Don’t burn yourself.’

‘I shan’t. Yes, well, I’ll have to either be on my stomach or my side so the wings fall down over the edge of the bed... the dressing table looks good there, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, not bad. Here. Drink up.’

‘Thanks. I say, Gethin?’

‘Yes, Jonathan?’

‘We were going to go dancing tonight. Or had you forgotten? Sorry.’

‘Plenty of other nights to go dancing. Dance tomorrow, at the party.’

‘Oh, yes, of course we will, because you’re going to have a flat full of people and I’m just going to come out to them as a real member of the Angelic Host...?’

‘Something like that. No, what we’ll do, is we’ll find a way to disguise your wings – cover them, p’raps – and do something so it looks like they’re tied on... and there you are, instant costume...’

‘Nobody would believe it!’

‘Why not? Think about it – you know what people are like, what’s going to seem more likely, that you’re in costume – very good costume – or that you’re an actual angel? First time I saw the wings, I thought they were fancy dress, remember?’

‘Well, you had been drinking, and woke up in a hurry... Okay, we might get away with it... if I keep to the background... but then tomorrow, Steph...’

‘I’ll keep her away from you in the afternoon, say your costume’s going to be a surprise, well, it will be...’

‘I suppose if we’re careful it might be all right...’

‘Anyway, this isn’t your fault, any of it, Jonathan, you were attacked without provocation...’

‘You don’t understand, they were from First Phalanx...’

‘And that makes it right, does it, to hurt you, to put you at risk?’

‘Well, of course not... I say, Gethin?’

‘Yes, Jonathan?’

‘If you were to come to bed, and cuddle in, you’d be much more fun than a hot water bottle...’

*

It wasn’t the sense of being overheated that woke Gethin, although he was far too warm. Nor was it the heavy arm around him, not as such. 

But Blake was twitching in his sleep, muttering.

Even as Gethin wondered if he should do something, try to wake Jonathan from what was sounding like a very unpleasant dream, the muttering became words, disjointed, but coherent.

‘No... not your... why...? You can’t, you... no, wait, I... Roscoe? Where are you, Roscoe? Help, I...’

‘Jonathan?’ Gethin turned onto his back, stroked Jonathan’s arm. ‘Jay?’

‘No! Get off me! Get off me! Get off!’

Gethin let go, edged away, unwilling to cause more upset.

‘Blake!’ he said, more loudly. ‘Jonathan, wake up!’

‘No, you...!’ Jonathan’s eyes opened and he blinked, focussed on Gethin staring at him. ‘Oh, fuck, what have I done?’

‘Nothing, bad dream, that’s all.’

‘Then why are you all the way over there? What did I say? Did I push you away, in the dream I was fighting them, I didn’t...?’

‘I’m fine, I put my hand on your arm to wake you up, you shouted a bit, that’s all.’

‘But you’re all the way over there, not cuddled in any more... but I wouldn’t, Gethin, I wouldn’t push you away, I love you, I...’ He broke off as he heard what he’d said. ‘Oh.’

‘You’re an angel, you love all humans, I get it.’

‘Well, yes... But not like this, Gethin. Not with my heart and my guts and my loins, not so that you’re all I think about even when I’m being... well. Sorry.’

‘Good thing I love you back then, isn’t it?’

‘You...?’ Blake exhaled and his happy smile blossomed. ‘Well, that’s all right, then.’

Gethin laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s all right, then. Come on, cuddle up a bit? Get settled, then you’re going to tell me about this dream of yours...’

‘Am I?’ 

‘Probably best, get it out in the open. Can’t help if I don’t know, can I?’

With a sigh Blake rearranged himself so that his head rested on Gethin’s shoulder, an arm across his body and his wing over them both. Gently Gethin stroked the downy feathers, avoiding the damaged region, enjoying the drifting softeness.

‘I say, Gethin, that’s lovely...’

‘Yes, it is for me, too. Come on, Jonathan... what was it?’

‘Not a dream, really. Just... reliving it in my sleep, sort of thing. How it happened, from the start, we were on our way back when I heard the phalanx calling. Well, you don’t ignore that, so Roscoe pulled over, I stripped to my waist and took off to meet them... as soon as I landed I was grabbed, so I couldn’t furl; there were four of them holding me – I shouted out for Roscoe, I think – and another told me what they were going to do, one wing at a time. To teach me my place – not with the phalanxes, but here on the earth, hiding... hiding away because my wings were on show. One steadied me, three more stretched out my wing, and the one who’d spoken, he... he gave me the wounds.’

‘One wing at a time?’

‘To make it worse. The dream, it started when they grabbed me, the feeling of fear, not knowing what was going on, just the sense of menace and... and they weren’t gentle...’

Gethin swore, an unending and uncharacteristic tirade of invective.

‘Thank you, Gethin-love, but I’m not sure half of that is physically possible. Even for angels.’

‘If I ever run into any of the ones who hurt you, I’ll...’

‘No, don’t say that! That’s the last thing I want, you hurting your spirit by getting angry and violent with them. This is just how it is for the likes of Roscoe and me, sometimes. They were just showing off, trying to impress their Highers. It wasn’t personal, not really...’

‘It’s not fair, it isn’t right!’

‘No, you’re right there! Well, never mind. Something good’s come of it.’

‘Someth...? What possible...’

‘You said you love me.’ Gethin could feel Jonathan’s face change shape against his chest as the angel smiled and snuggled in. ‘It was worth it just for that.’


	20. Uninvited Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the costumes are ready, the party gets underway... and a stranger arrives...

Gethin woke to the alarm with a groan and hit it harder than strictly necessary to silence it. It was far too early to be up, surely, especially with a wounded angel in the bed next to him...?

...Except there wasn’t. Instead there was a big, warm space suggesting Jonathan had not long got up. 

He pushed out of bed and headed downstairs to find Blake busy in the kitchen, moving carefully so his beautiful peachy-beige wings didn’t get too near the gas rings where bacon was beginning to sizzle in the pan.

‘Morning, Jonathan. Feeling better then?’

The angel turned with a happy smile over his shoulder.

‘I feel great, thank you. Breakfast in five minutes.’

‘How’s the injuries?’

Blake gave a little shiver of his plumage that made Gethin swallow with sudden desire even as he noted that some of the mid-range of feathers were out of alignment with the rest.

‘Feel fine. Well, I’ll be better again once my wings are washed, it’ll help the bent feathers settle back a bit, but the pain’s gone.’

‘Why do I feel you’re putting a brave face on, Jonathan?’

‘I don’t know, Gethin, why do you feel... all that? Really, in myself, I’m great.’

He turned to set plates on the table, and Gethin grinned. 

‘Well, you certainly look it.’

‘Flatterer! You going to get washed and dressed, then, or what? If you’re opening up at nine-thirty...’

‘All right, I’m going...’

‘And hurry up, or your breakfast will be cold...’

And that was how Blake was, all through breakfast; buoyant, fussing, cheerful. Not to mention charming, funny and gorgeous... 

Gethin lusted his way through the meal, distracted by Jonathan’s mood, but relieved that the odd, uneasy feeling had gone.

Just after nine, as Gethin was drinking a second cup of tea, Jonathan lifted his head as if listening for something and a moment later there was a banging on the downstairs door.

‘That’s Yuri, I think.’

When Gethin went down and opened the door, he saw it was indeed Yuri, dressed very neatly in a sharp suit and shirt without tie.

‘Wasn’t expecting you quite yet.’

‘Ah, well, you didn’t say how much before eleven and there’s a lot to do this morning...’

‘Is there? You’d better come up then.’

‘First thing is to see how Blake’s wings are healing, then I can help him clean them...’ Yuri said, following. ‘After that, there was something about a party...?’

‘Roscoe’s meant to be helping...’

‘Ah, well so am I now, after last night, I removed myself from the phalanx and am at an appropriately loose end, all you need to do is ask... really, just ask...’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘Because if a human asks us to do something, anything, to help them, we’re hardwired to try to assist. So go on, ask me to help, you’ll be saving me from a lecture at least... ‘

‘But Roscoe...’

‘Now, Roscoe does best with detailed instructions and reasons why they’re detailed otherwise he gets into a bit of a mess... Go on, ask me to help.’

‘Okay. Yuri, please will you help with Blake and the party and everything?’

‘There? Wasn’t so hard, was it? Oh, you didn’t have to say ‘please’, by the way, but I appreciate the courtesy...’ By now they’d reached the flat and Jonathan was looking towards the doorway. ‘Blake, how are you?’

‘Yuri... hello, want some toast?’

‘Bloody good idea, yes.’ He sat down at the table and reached for the tea pot, glancing round at Gethin. ‘Are you still here? Thought you had a shop to run...?’

‘Very funny. Right, anything you need, help yourself, unless it’s alcohol, we’re saving that for tonight... Jonathan knows his way round. Jay, the hairdryer’s in the bottom of the wardrobe, if you need it for your wings, cariad. See you later.’

And, much though he’d have rather stayed to see what the two angels were going to get up to, instead Gethin went down to the shop and began his pre-opening routine, even though he didn’t think there’d be much business before ten.

It was surprisingly steady, though, people just sobered up after Christmas and not yet drinking for New Year, so taking the opportunity of getting out and about for a day. True, the first customer didn’t arrive until quarter to ten, but still, it felt like the odd hiatus of the break was on its way out.

Yuri brought Gethin a cup of tea at about half ten.

‘Blake said you’d be glad of it and obviously he can’t come down at the moment. Drying off. Looking a lot better already, by the way, so I’m going to stay and give him my technical expertise... we took the table and the sewing machine upstairs, by the way, there’s more room on the landing for costume fittings and such... we’ve had to guess for you, although Blake says he’s got a pretty good sense of your size...’

‘Do I even want to know?’

Yuri grinned in a way that would probably have caused maidens to swoon, back in the day.

‘Let’s just say I think you’re going to be surprised. Your boyfriend’s going to be a while with the hairdryer, mind if I take a look around?’

‘No, help yourself,’ Gethin said, trying not to grin at the way ‘your boyfriend’ had sounded, easy and natural. ‘Want the tour?’

‘Oh, I’m happy just browsing, thanks,’ Yuri said, and disappeared into the art photo section with every appearance of knowing exactly what he was looking for.

Fortunately, the bell jangled and a customer arrived to stop Gethin thinking too loudly about why Yuri might be interested in photographs of the male nude...

‘Everyone should have a hobby,’ Yuri said brightly, interrupting Gethin’s attempts not to wonder a few minutes later. ‘Well, I need to be off, Blake’s given me a list of things he needs and one of them is Roscoe... better see if I can find him... Of course, it’d be quicker if you just thought, very loudly, that you need his help.’

‘Really?’

‘We’re attuned to humans, always listening... oh, well done, that was quick!’ Yuri said as the door jangled and Roscoe pushed through backwards, arms full of bags. 

‘I’d have been quicker, but nobody answered the door,’ Roscoe grumbled. ‘I’ve been outside the flat for ages.’

‘Can I give you permission to go in and out of the flat as much as you like today?’ Gethin said. ‘Otherwise it’s going to get in the way a bit.’

‘I suppose so,’ Yuri said. ‘Look, Roscoe, we’ve got a lot to do today... drop that stuff off and get a move on...’

‘Waiting to be let in...’

‘I’ll take you up to the flat now,’ Gethin said. ‘Yuri, if anyone comes in and asks anything... just don’t be helpful... I’ll be back in a minute.’

*

Both Yuri and Roscoe were gone by the time Steph arrived, struggling in with a large bag.

‘Morning, Gethin. Hope you don’t mind, I brought my costume for tonight... well, you wouldn’t want me to have to go all the way home and back again, not when I can be here helping, would you?’

‘I’ll remember that,’ Gethin said. ‘Helping. Okay, leave your stuff in the back room, if you like.’

‘Thanks, Gethin. Jonathan around?’

‘Yes, but he’s not to be disturbed. Costumes, big secret, unveiling at the appropriate moment and all that...’

‘Oh, very mysterious!’

‘Yes, it’d better be worth it...’

Of course, he knew it would be, and he left Steph in charge while went ‘to get her a coffee’ but really to look in on Jonathan and help dry the patches of feathers he hadn’t been able to reach.

‘And see, the feathers are lying nice and flat again!’ Blake said, with a grin. ‘You can stroke them, if you like.’

‘Maybe later, Jay – Steph’s alone in the shop... I told her you’re keeping the costumes secret...’

‘I’ve made a good start,’ Blake said. ‘Decided to restyle my shepherd’s robe so I can fit it over my wings... someone will have to button me into it – and I’ve stolen your wings to make covers for my real ones with, sorry. But don’t worry, Roscoe and Yuri are out sourcing fabric for your new set – Yuri had an idea and I have to admit it sounded perfect...’

‘Great,’ Gethin said, getting the kettle on for Steph’s coffee. ‘Steph’s not bothering to go home to change, she brought things with her.’

‘Oh, that’s a marvellous idea! She can help us get ready...’

‘That’s going to be fun, isn’t it...?’

 

...but actually, it sort of was...

Roscoe and Yuri seemed to be in and out of the shop and flat all afternoon, and Steph boggled as she was introduced.

‘What, like that spoon-bender bloke?’ she asked. ‘Or the astronaut?’

‘Neither, in fact; it’s short for something else,’ Yuri tilted his head. ‘Yes. I see now.’

‘What...?’

‘Nothing. Gethin, you’re going to need more bread...’

‘Roscoe again?’

‘Oi!’ Roscoe protested from the back room. ‘I had a lot of help today, you know...’

‘Anyway, closing time. Roscoe, you know where the shops are, go and get more bread...’

‘How much will we need for the party?’

‘Not much, it’s mostly for drinking, not eating... couple of plates of sandwiches will do...’

‘Sandwiches? What about toast?’

‘We’re not having toast at the party...! Oh, get a few bags of crisps as well...’

‘Shall I go with him?’ Steph offered.

‘Yeah, if you don’t mind. Thanks.’

Once Roscoe and Steph had gone, Gethin hurried through his end-of-day routine, looking up to find Yuri watching.

‘So is Steph the girl Blake saved from abduction and then prevented being killed in a fire?’ the archangel asked.

‘Yes. Friend failed to meet her off her bus, these two blokes acting creepy, she said, was about to leave the bus station when Blake stopped her. Pointed out, if she didn’t know where she was going, and the creepy blokes did, she might get into worse trouble... he sorted it out. The fire, yes, she was with us Christmas and her taxi never showed...’

‘I see. And has this happened a lot, that he’s actually managed to stop people getting hurt?’ 

‘Three of them, to my knowledge. In just over a week.’ Gethin shrugged. ‘That’s without how he’s helped me. Wish people’d just get off his back and let him do his job properly.’ 

He closed the till and checked the shop door was secured.

‘Right, that’s it, if we need to spill over, we’ll go into the back room.’ He locked the communicating door. ‘We can access it from the hall, keep the shop empty. Coming up to the flat?’

The racket of the sewing machine and the lusty notes of Blake’s accompanying song met them as Gethin led the way in. Having expected there to be a lot to do, he was more than pleased to see the flat had been tidied up, things put away and moved to one side to clear space in the centre of the sitting room. In the kitchen, the small work space was covered with bottles and cans, ready for the party. More alcohol was stacked on the floor.

‘Expecting a crowd?’ Yuri grinned.

‘Well, I didn’t say how much Roscoe should get...’

The noise from above stopped abruptly and Jonathan called down.

‘I say, Gethin? Is that you? Want to come and see?’

Of course he did...

Jonathan was standing on the patch of tired carpet at the top of the stairs, under the light, allowing it to shine dramatically on his hair, making it gold instead of honey. He was in a new version of the striped shepherd’s robe, wide sleeves, oddly high neckline, and at his back a pair of white furry wings emerged.

‘White wings are boring,’ Gethin said with a grin. ‘Except on you. Turn round, let’s see the back?’

Slits had been made in the fabric to fit the fake wings, hiding how they covered Blake’s actual plumage, but hanging open below. Gethin was vaguely relieved to see Jonathan’s jeans beneath...

‘Now, you see, I had to put this robe on back to front, and change it, so under my wings you should find buttons and button holes, if you could be a sweetheart and match them up for me...’

‘No problem. Looks fabulous, doesn’t hurt your own wings, does it?’

‘No, I kept the wiring out and it’s very soft... I’m sort of folded into them a bit, but it’s fine. Thank you... so, will I pass muster?’

‘You look like a bloke in a dodgy angel costume, if that’s what you mean...’

‘Oh, imagine, me, a dodgy angel... right, want to try yours on?’

‘Mine? It’s done?’

Blake grinned. 

‘Almost; as much as I could without you here...now, hope you’re not going to go all shy on me...’

‘Erm... Jonathan...?’

‘No, but you see, if people ask...there’s your Action Man angel, so, you don’t mind being shirtless, do you?’

Gethin’s mouth hung open as he tried to phrase all his reasons all at once, but ended up shaking his head.

‘I’ll get a tee shirt,’ he said.

‘Oh. But don’t you want to see...?’

And Blake idly pushed open the door to the guest room where a pair of felt and fur fabric wings were hanging over the wardrobe door.

Wings of beige and black and white, with patches of bright blue-and-black barring at the edges.

Jay’s wings.

‘Would you at least try them on first?’ Jonathan said softly. ‘I’d like to see you like that, just for a minute... I made leather straps and everything, just like the one on the tree has...’

Impossible to refuse, when he said it like that, so Gethin took off his shirt and allowed Blake to help him into the harness. Once on, the wings were amazing, lightweight and warm, and although it felt odd to be so exposed, at the same time Gethin felt right, comfortable in his skin.

‘These are great,’ he said. ‘Not as beautiful as yours, but... they feel beautiful.’

‘That’s how you look, too,’ Blake said softly. ‘Perfect and gorgeous and... no, you’re right, you need a tee shirt underneath. Just in case the harness rubs. Oh, and here...’ He found a pair of binoculars on a tired leather strap. ‘Just like Action Man.’

‘All right.’ Gethin pulled Jonathan to stand next to him, both of them reflected in the mirror. ‘Don’t we just look the part? Except for one thing...’

‘What?’

‘You need a halo, a sparkly tinsel halo.’

Jonathan laughed. ‘Give us your wings while you find a tee shirt, then we’ll sort one. Can’t wait to see Steph’s face...’

‘Well, stay as I am for a bit, change later, okay?’

Jonathan grinned. ‘I do hope you mean without your shirt on...’

‘Better not. Be a bit draughty, without the wings on.’

*

Although Gethin had told his few invited friends to turn up ‘any time after eight’, Jonathan had invited his guests for seven thirty, and by seven all was ready in the flat, dishes washed, bits of sewing cleared away, the table back in place with glasses ready for the onslaught, and the last touches put to Steph’s Wise Person costume, basically a swathe of green glittery fabric and a selection of jewellery from the hoard of Jonathan’s late ‘aunt’.

‘What about you, Roscoe?’ Steph asked. ‘What are you coming as?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got time to whip up an ass costume, have you?’ Yuri asked Jonathan with a grin.

‘Why, what size are you, Yuri?’ Blake replied with an innocent grin that made Gethin choke back a laugh.

To give him his due, the archangel laughed.

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ he said.

‘Oh, grow up,’ Steph said. ‘Honestly, you boys, always showing off...’

‘Right, I’m going to put my costume on,’ Gethin said. ‘Yuri, Roscoe, if you want to change, one of you can take the back room downstairs and the other, there’s the guest room upstairs...’

‘I say, Gethin...’ Jonathan began, tilting the tinsel circlet that served as his halo into a rakish angle on his tangled hair, ‘how many guests does it take to make a party? Because there’s already five of us...’

‘And it’s quarter past seven.’ Steph pointed out.

‘Okay, Wise Person, you’re in charge of music, Jonathan, you can do the drinks, if you like... give me a beer and I’ll go and open the street door...’

‘You know, Gethin, you’d look more like the angel on the tree if you lost the tee shirt,’ Steph said helpfully from by the record player.

‘Yes, Jonathan’s already said... bit cold, though.’

‘What are you drinking, Steph? Bottle of lager,Gethin?’

‘Cheers. And you – watch yourself with the gin...’

Downstairs, Gethin opened the street door and stood, looking out. He took a mouthful of lager, taking a breath of the cold night air. Yes. Needed the tee shirt, even though the wings were warm and snug at his back.

‘There is a sense of anticipation approaching from the west,’ Yuri’s elegant voice told him. ‘I suspect several of your guests have just exited the tube...’

Gethin looked the archangel over. He was dressed in a formal uniform with impressive insignia, and a peaked cap.

‘And you are...?’

‘Oh, I’ve played with the theme a little, not technically a Nativity figure... I decided I’d come as Pontius, the pilot...’

‘Very good, yes, nice one.’ Gethin shook his head. ‘And there was me thinking you were going to get your wings out...’

‘Ha, yes, that would go down well... you never know, it might still happen, if you play your cards right... Roscoe’s found an old dressing gown and a tie-on beard, he’s the innkeeper. Just so that you know; it isn’t immediately obvious.’ Yuri shook his head. 

‘One thing I’ve learned about him though, he’s a trier...’

Voices, along the street, echoing in the night air. Not loud, but carrying, excited, harmonious.

Gethin retreated to the foot of the stairs and called up.

‘Jonathan? Jonathan...?’

‘Yes?’ Blake appeared, looking over the banisters.

‘Did you invite the Lesbians Aloud Choral Singers, by any chance?’

‘Yes, yes, I did...’

‘Whatever the fuck for...? Sorry, didn’t mean it like that, fine bunch of ladies...’

‘Friends for Steph, I thought. Besides, might get a bit of a singalong going...’

‘Well, you invited them, you come and greet them.’

Almost the entire complement of the Singers piled in amongst a flurry of coats and bottles and random costumes.

‘Coats in the back room, drinks are in the flat. Go on up, someone’ll find you a drink...’

‘Didn’t fancy the Nativity,’ the lead alto confided to Gethin, revealing herself as an eye-watering Valkyrie. ‘So we just went for it! Loving the wings, though, oh and Blakey’s an angel too, who would have thought it, all his stories...?’

Yuri curled a curious lip and Gethin shrugged.

‘I have no idea, and I don’t think I want to know, thank you...’

Approaching from the other end of the street, two vaguely-recognised figures, Craig and his mother Josie, accompanied by two strangers that nevertheless had a familiar air.

‘Raphael and Michael,’ Yuri said. ‘Rafe manifests as a swan, biggest span of all of us, the bastard...Mikey’s more showy; red, gold and bronze wings. Bit of a flash git. Rafe’s good with people.’

‘I’d have thought that was a prerequisite?’

‘What? Oh, no; we don’t need to be nice to you, we just need to get you out of trouble.’

‘Here we are,’ Josie said brightly. ‘Look who we met on the way; they say they’re Jonathan’s friends?’

‘We’ve not met but, hello, Rafe, Mikey, is it?’ Gethin shook hands, wondering idly if good looks was all part of being an angel; both were tall, Rafe clean-cut, crisp features, bright eyes, Mikey a sort of lush blond; Josie couldn’t keep her eyes off him... ‘Both of you – all of you, come in, follow me up...’

There already seemed to be quite a party going on; Blake laughing as the Valkyrie chorister felt his wings, Roscoe serving drinks, Steph helping.

‘Innkeeper,’ Roscoe called over. ‘Seemed appropriate...’

‘Thanks. Keep an eye out the window for more guests arriving, will you? Craig, come and meet Steph...’

Mikey tossed his hair and laughed at something Josie said, Rafe inserted himself between two Singers and commented on their costumes, and the Valkyrie let go of Blake’s wings long enough for him to make his way over to Gethin and give him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

‘This is lovely, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Your wings look gorgeous, by the way.’

‘Now you know why I can’t keep my eyes off you. Thanks for making them.’

‘So, Rafe and Mikey, what do you think?’

‘Seem like nice lads...Oh, for the...Mikey’s found the toaster... Roscoe? Roscoe, offer him some crisps...’

‘More people!’ Roscoe called out.

They were Ray and Reggie, similarly dressed in what looked like shepherd outfits, similarly haired and voiced, owners of one of the sofas Jonathan had stayed on, and erstwhile gerbil-minders, and they were followed soon after by a couple of dark haired lads, one with a Northern accent, one with a Northern Irish one, neither of them in costume.

‘It’s Mark, and Mike!’ Jonathan said. ‘You know, I said, I met them at the bus stop asking for directions... Come and say hello...’

By the time an hour had passed, most of Gethin’s guests had arrived, in ones and twos and various attempts at costume. Time sped up, vanishing in drinking and chatting, introductions and circling, making sure nobody was left on their own, and just as Gethin was thinking everything nicely settled, conversations flowing, lubricated properly by alcohol, an excited, squealed version of his name from the doorway made him aware of a newcomer; Jeff, wearing a sheepskin coat inside out and a hat of loopy white wool to match white gloves, waving delightedly.

‘Jeff, glad you could make it, feeling better?’

‘Yes, fine again now, oh, Gethin, look at you and your wings! And there was me hoping to find you as a shepherd...’ He fluttered his eyes and smiled. ‘Baa... well, there’s always a little lamb, isn’t there?’

‘Sorry, not a shepherd tonight... let me see if I can find you one...’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter... besides, you being a Welshman...’

Gethin shook his head, laughing.

‘Never been that kind of a Welshman, Jeff, and anyway, spoken for, Jonathan and I are together. Never mind, come and meet Roscoe, he’s doing the drinks...’

As Gethin left Jeff choosing a drink, he found Rafe at his side, bright smile friendly and curious.

‘Can I walk with you?’

Odd way of putting it, but Gethin shrugged, nodded. 

‘Yes. You didn’t get the message, then, about it being fancy dress?’

A small, private smile.

‘Oh, Mikey and I thought we’d get changed later. If that’s all right with you?’

‘Whatever, no pressure...’

‘I heard... we get to hear all sorts of things about the likes of Roscoe and Jonathan, you know, usually in shocked tones... Your Blake... he seems to find it easier to make un-friends...’

‘Well, they’ll have to get through me to get to him, now...’

‘I mean no offence,’ Rafe said softly. ‘I confess I hardly knew him other than by repute, not until he needed to seek answers, but he seems... there is no harm in him. Just... an eagerness, so that he does not wait, does not think, does not consider... and yet, sometimes...’

‘I know what he is, you know. And you and your friends. But he’s... what’s the phrase, a direct instrument, someone said. So I s’pose thinking would get in the way of that, a bit.’

Rafe nodded. ‘Yes, and certainly, listening to the stories tonight... humankind likes him. He has made friends amongst your community, certainly. Perhaps that’s the heart of it, my kindred brethren who feel they are superior, they’re a little envious, perhaps...’ The archangel glanced at him with a smile. ‘And there is a facsimile of an angel on your tree in the hall; its wings match yours... that’s quite a powerful statement, you know.’

‘Blake’s had quite a powerful effect on me,’ Gethin said. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without him now.’

‘Hold that thought,’ Rafe said. ‘And do not be afraid to admit to it; such words could be his salvation.’

‘Why would my friend need saving?’

Rafe shrugged.

‘If you understand this much, you will know, we are not permitted to tell you what is going to happen. But... you might wish to stop your friend downstairs from answering the door...’

Too late, Gethin heard his friend Peter’s voice at the door, and a newcomer walked in, just walked in as if he owned the place.

Gethin looked him over. He stood with hands folded neatly, staring at Gethin with a coldly curious gaze and an air of entitlement Gethin found instinctively infuriating. Around them silence pooled while the party went on as if at a distance. Rafe was gone, everybody was gone, it seemed, except Gethin and the stranger trapped in some strange little bubble of privacy.

‘I am Kushiel,’ the newcomer said. ‘And I have business with Blake.’

And ignoring Gethin’s protests, Kushiel pushed past him into the living room.


	21. Gatecrasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gatecrasher causes a stir...

There was nothing for it but to follow in the newcomer’s wake and hope to warn Jonathan before what felt like an inevitable onslaught, but Blake was waiting inside the doorway as if he already knew. He joined Gethin the moment he stepped across the threshold, just as Kushiel reached the middle of the room and began to look around.

‘I think he’s looking for me,’ Blake said softly from Gethin’s side, his voice somehow carrying through the music and background noise. ‘Gethin, that’s Yuri’s Higher...’

The stranger briefly raised haughty brows and the strangely exclusive pool of silence fell around them once again.

‘Uriel, his name is Uriel, the one whose work has constantly been interrupted by one not fit to...’

‘Sorry about that,’ Blake said, sliding his arm through Gethin’s as if to draw him aside. ‘Geth, never mind this, you need to find your friend Jeff...’

_‘Jonathan Blake, I heard talk that you were displaying your wings, not for the first time, how dare you contravene all our rules? And why does this human wear a facsimile...?’_

‘His wings are out because some bastard bloody angels hurt them,’ Gethin said, wanting to pull out of Jonathan’s grip so he could face this... this... this interfering _bastard_ , how, how could this be an _angel???_ but needing to hold tight to his cariad. ‘But they’re disguised, and it’s a costume party. I think I’m allowed to wear whatever the fuck I like in my own home, not that it’s any of your business, but my wings are honouring his.’ He looked up into Blake’s face. ‘Listen, my Jay, I need you, need your help, do you hear me, Blake? Here. Always. ’

‘I hear you.’

‘Hurt? What tale is this...? Don’t be ridiculous, what can you know about any of this?’

‘Yuri came up to us in the street,’ Gethin said with dangerous softness. ‘My friend Jonathan had nothing to do with it, and for that his wings were ripped so that he couldn’t furl, deliberately, to get him into trouble, and now you come here, looking to blame him...?’

‘No matter. Uriel! Where is Uriel...?’

‘Gethin,’ Jonathan spoke low and urgent into his ear. ‘You need to interrupt Jeff, now, this minute...’

‘Why? What’s he doing?’

The bubble of silence broke as Kushiel moved away from them and outside noise flowed freely once more. From further inside the flat Kushiel’s voice rose above the noise of the music.

_‘Uriel Skystar, I see you there, what in the names of all the Seven Heavens do you think you’re doing???’_

‘What is Yuri doing?’ Gethin asked.

‘Jeff, and making a very thorough job of it, there’ll be wings all over the living room if they don’t ease off; I tried to tell you...’  
In the corner of the room, causing the wicker peacock chair to creak and protest under the dual weight, Jeff had lost his sheepskin coat and was sitting on Yuri’s lap being profoundly kissed. Any lingering guilt Gethin might have felt about the youngster faded; it seemed he had quite happily moved on. That Yuri had heard the voice of his Higher was apparent only by the economically abusive gesture he made with the first two fingers of his right hand; every other part of him was intent on kissing and cuddling the young blond on his lap.

_‘Uriel, will you stop that and pay attention...’_

Holding up his free hand to signal waiting, Yuri ended the kiss with obvious reluctance and gave Jeff a little squeeze.

‘That’s my boss, I’m afraid, well, my former boss... it might all get a little sweary, why don’t you go and find yourself a drink – but not a shepherd, my pretty little agnus dei, or I’ll have you shorn by morning...’

Jeff slithered off Yuri’s lap with a giggle and a flirt and paused as he sashayed past Gethin to pause and lay a happy hand on his arm.

‘You do have the loveliest friends!’ he said. ‘Pontius the Pilot can fly me anytime...’

Yuri and Kushiel were talking now, voices almost silent, swift and rife with gesticulation, and Gethin, just relieved that Blake was no longer the target for Kushiel’s wrath, thought it better to keep out of it. He looked up at Jonathan, saw an anxious cast lingering in his eyes.

‘Come on, my Jay. Find you a gin? No point worrying, is there? I’m sure Yuri can keep his boss busy for a bit...’ Gethin slid his arm around Jonathan’s waist, under his wings, to pull in against him. ‘Might even let Roscoe make you some toast, if you like.’

‘Now, that’s my kind of G&T,’ Blake said with a ghost of his usual smile, allowing himself to be led into the kitchen where Roscoe was still serving.

‘You go off for a bit, relax, talk to people,’ Gethin said. ‘Thanks for your help, though.’

‘Rel...? Have you seen who’s out there? Do you know who that is...?’

‘I sort of gathered...’

_‘Michael! Raphael, where are you?’_

Gethin stared as Mikey, Rafe slinking behind him, approached.

‘Rafe,’ he said, surging with a sense of betrayal he couldn’t quite explain. ‘Rafe, listen – do what you can for Jonathan? Human asking, here.’

Rafe lilted his mouth in half a smile. 

‘I would anyway,’ he said. 

*

‘There you are, Gethin!’ Josie came up, slightly tipsy, pink cheeked and smiling and getting in the way of his view of Kushiel. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I, how much I like your Christmas tree? It made me think back to the night Craig and I were decorating ours, only a few weeks ago, and so much has changed. Thank you.’

She reached out impulsively and swathed Jonathan in a hug.

‘You don’t mind a thank you cuddle, do you? Only things are so much better now... without Craig’s dad...’ Releasing the angel, she shrugged up her shoulders. ‘I suppose I should mind, after all, we’ve been married twenty years, near enough, but... you think you know someone... and then, suddenly, there was this stranger saying horrible things about my little boy, my baby... it’s not going to be easy...’ She faltered and a shadow darkened her face for a moment. ‘No, but it’s going to be better. Happier. No hiding for my Craig, no need to. Because he’s still my baby, still my little boy, even now.’

In the background, Craig rolled his eyes. Gethin grinned.

‘I’m glad it’s working out for you...’ lifting his voice a little, ‘I’m glad Jonathan was able to help.’

‘You too, of course. I was saying to that lovely blond lad we arrived with, what would have happened but for you and your boyfriend helping my Craig... what you’ve got to realise, I didn’t know anything about... this, nobody I knew, well not that I knew I knew, so it’s all very... anyway, my Craig’s safe. That’s all that matters.’

Gethin poured Jonathan a large gin; he looked as if he needed it.

‘Keep him here,’ he told Roscoe, nodding towards Blake. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

He eased out of the kitchen to lounge against the door and try to listen in on the conversation taking place across the room.

‘You’ve heard, I hope?’ Yuri was saying to his erstwhile Higher. ‘How they value him? How their thoughts sing, Jonathan helped, Jonathan stepped in, Jonathan saved me... And it is about them, is it not? What we think of the instruments is irrelevant. And you wonder why I left, after the stunt Lucius and Decian pulled?’

‘Isolated incident...’

‘Read the room,’ Rafe said. ‘If listening to the stories is not enough, hear behind them, hear the silences, the alternatives that are not voiced.’

‘None of which takes away from the fact that Blake’s wings are being publicly displayed – flaunted – in a room full of humans...’

‘But nobody cares,’ Mikey said. ‘Nor can you call doing all in his power to hide his plumage flaunting...’

With a sudden lithe movement he pulled the shirt off over his head and rolled his shoulders. The area around him filled with feathers, gold, red, bronze and Gethin barely had time to register this when his view was partially blocked by suddenly visible white wings, huge and glossy, almost filling the room and barely avoiding the light fittings.

‘Now, this,’ Rafe said. ‘This is flaunting.’

He looked over his shoulder towards Gethin and grinned, shivering his wings into place and, well, perhaps white wings weren’t boring after all, not when they were displayed in support of Jonathan. 

Blake’s were still the best, though.

Suddenly it was as if the room came awake from a sudden sleep, noise restored, conversations flowing, and now, only now it seemed, people began to notice Rafe and Mikey’s transformation. Abruptly cornered behind the archangels by approaching and admiring guests, Kushiel’s response was lost in the sudden convergence of people and rise of voices. As the choristers crowded around to comment on design and realism, Yuri sidled from the room unbuttoning his shirt, to reappear a couple of moments later bare-chested and with a pair of creamy wings folded at his back, and Gethin was treated to the sight of Jeff launching himself at the archangel with a squeal of glee.

‘Oh, look at you! That’s better than your other costume... can I have a little stroke..? And I don’t just mean the feathery bits...’

Yuri grinned and put his arm around Jeff’s shoulders.

‘Sounds like a plan... I think there’s a spare room somewhere...’

(‘You see?’ Jonathan muttered, emerging from the kitchen. ‘Totally up for it. But that’s archangels for you... Well, it might just be Yuri, I suppose...’)

‘Is that okay?’ Gethin asked. ‘I mean...’

‘Oh, yes, the rules about not hurting humans extend to interacting intimately with them, I’m sure...’ Blake fell awkwardly silent for a moment, and when he continued, his voice was diffident. ‘I say, Gethin? You... you don’t mind, do you? About Jeff, I mean...’

‘Daft thing,’ Gethin said, recognising insecurity in Blake’s hesitance. ‘Wouldn’t want him hurt at all, but very happy to see him busy elsewhere. Anyway...’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve got you, I love you, or didn’t you realise yet? Oh, God, I didn’t mean to say it like that. Oh, fuck, what did I just say...?’

Blake hugged him tight.

‘I don’t know, I don’t care, I’m still hearing you say you love me...’

‘I might have... said the ‘G’ word...’

‘Oh. Well, never mind, let’s face it, the worse that could happen already has, with him showing up...’ He nodded in Kushiel’s direction. ‘Who’d have thought it, though? Two, no three archangels, standing up for me?’ His arms tightened around Gethin again. ‘And you saying... saying that... Can I...? Could I kiss you, that is, I...’

‘It’s your bloody party, of course you can kiss me. If you like.’

Perhaps it wasn’t one of the most passionate kisses they’d shared, but it was sweet and heartfelt and somehow romantic, first kiss after confessing... of course, Jonathan hadn’t said, but that didn’t matter...

‘Didn’t I?’ The angel frowning after the kiss ended, his hands resting on Gethin’s hips. ‘Thought I had, maybe just implied it... but I do, you. You know. Love. You.’

‘Pleased to hear it. Now, if we can just get rid of this bloody gatecrasher, we can enjoy ourselves...’

Steph came up, her face puzzled.

‘Gethin,’ she began. ‘There’s someone downstairs says he wants a word; I asked him in but he said he’d wait for you, posh sort of bloke. Looks like someone’s dad. Nice, though. Don’t think he’s a shouty neighbour or anything...’

‘Okay, I’ll go and see.’ Gethin eased out of Jonathan’s touch. ‘Keep an eye on my boyfriend for me, will you? Make sure you keep singing his praises, if anyone asks...’

‘Already done that, the blokes in the angel costumes...’

Downstairs, through the party guests starting to spill out now, clustering in the hall and on the landing, to the street door and there, waiting with urbane patience, Jonathan’s patron.

‘Or Roscoe’s organ-grinder, if you prefer. How are you, Gethin?’

‘I’m... better now I have Jonathan in my life. Would you like to come in?’

‘Thank you; I intended a visit in a few days but then I heard about certain developments...’

‘He’s okay, sir, Jonathan, he’s just a bit sore...’

‘Wait; what do you mean?’

‘I thought you... when you said...’

‘That he’s been seen, shall we say, in all his splendour? Love your interpretation, by the way...’

‘Oh, thanks. Jonathan made them for me... don’t blame him, will you? It’s really not his fault, he was... well. Come up. Do you know someone called Kushiel, by any chance?’

‘Ah. Yes, I do, in fact, and that rather explains some of the unsettled energies... good evening,’ Blake’s mentor said, passing between two choral ladies. ‘Ah, yes...’

‘What would you like to drink?’ Gethin asked. ‘Bar’s through here...’

‘Later, thank you, dear soul. It seems I have a jurisdictional matter to sort out first... and whatever are the archangels up to tonight...?’

‘Wouldn’t like to say about Yuri, sir. But Rafe and Mikey... moral support for my Jonathan.’

‘Our Jonathan; he is under my wing, so to speak... You’ll forgive me if I suggest you mingle with your guests while I speak to our friend?’

‘I left him in the kitchen with Roscoe...’

‘Kitchen. Thank you.’

Trying not to mingle in the direction of the kitchen but to leave Blake’s mentor to it, Gethin deliberately made his way back out onto the landing where he remembered seeing the two similarly-dressed men Jonathan had pointed out as the gerbil-minders.

‘What’s your Jonny story?’ one of them, ah... Ray, asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Jonathan. Story. Everyone seems to have one...’

‘Us, it was because of him we started a new career,’ Reggie said. ‘Rodent Rescue.’

‘We take in hamsters and gerbils that people don’t want any more...’

‘Guinea pigs, too...’

Gethin repressed a shudder. Guinea pigs? It was an eye-watering thought... 

‘My Jonathan story, right... um... customer friend found him somewhere, brought him to the shop. Next thing I knew he was chatting to the customers and...’ He shrugged. ‘He’s part of the place now. Part of my life, he’s had a lot to learn...’

‘Oh, tell us about it!’ Reggie laughed. ‘The questions he asked...’

‘Not exactly tactful,’ Ray shrugged. ‘It’s how you learn, though, I suppose.’

‘Glad you could come tonight.’

‘Yeah. Thanks. And, you know, didn’t realise the shop was even here...’

‘Ah, fairly new venture...’

Talking about the shop, and the back room meetings, and the notice board, kept Gethin busy for a good few minutes but didn’t completely stop him from wondering and worrying. But finding himself almost pushed aside as Kushiel exited in a frown of shadowy fury, down the stairs and out with a slam of the street door, he breathed a sigh of relief.

‘What was up with him?’ Ray muttered.

‘Gatecrasher. You two okay for drinks? Need a top up?’

‘Er... yes. Thanks...’ 

Jonathan’s mentor was talking quietly and softly to him in one corner, Rafe and Mikey part of the conversation, occasionally gesturing, speaking, but Gethin kept his attention on self-appointed task, leading Ray and Reggie towards the kitchen and its makeshift bar.

He took over from a wide-eyed Roscoe and found them drinks. Ray nodded thanks and the two wandered off, leaving Gethin alone with the angel.

‘You all right Roscoe?’

‘Did you see? No, you didn’t, you weren’t here, well, _he_ went up to him, to Kushiel, and said something, and Rafe and Mikey spoke up, and then there was this...well, our Higher, he sort of... of loomed and Rafe and Mikey shrugged and turned away from Kushiel, and knelt to our chap – changed allegiance, that’s sort of like, they quit, and so he – Kushiel – left...’

‘Barged past me on his way out, good riddance.’ Gethin helped himself to a drink. ‘So... since everyone else has... why don’t you get your wings out, join the fun?’

‘Oh, don’t!’ Roscoe said with a shudder. ‘So far nobody’s noticed me yet; I think I’d like to keep it that way!’ 

‘You could never be overlooked, Roscoe!’ Blake’s mentor, Higher, whoever, smiled from the doorway. ‘No matter. Keep doing the things you do with honest intent and you won’t go far wrong... Gethin, you suggested Uriel is here too...?’

‘Yes, but... he found a friend and...’

‘Of course he did!’ The Higher smiled. ‘Typical... they’re not all like him, I’m glad to say, we would never get anything done... Well, Gethin, I’ve had the whole story now, I think... and while I have no jurisdiction over those who injured Jonathan, nor does Kushiel have jurisdiction over our friend... I have reminded him of the fact, Rafe and Mikey have decided they would rather work for me than him, and... I understand Yuri is currently without a Higher... not that I am entirely sure he would be an asset... But that is for another day, you promised me a drink, if you remember?’ He smiled. ‘Roscoe will help me; go to your friend; I think he needs a little reassurance...’

Blake had found a perch on the arm of the sofa, his wings making it difficult for him to sit on it properly. The seat was empty, however, and Gethin eased himself into it and slid an arm across Blake’s lap.

‘Hi, Jay.’

‘Hi, yourself.’ Blake smiled, tremulous. ‘Well, that was... scary.’

‘Still, you’re safe now.’

‘Yes.’ Jonathan leaned in to put an arm round Gethin’s shoulders. ‘And you said you love me.’

‘And you nearly said it back.’

‘Oh.’ Jonathan leaned closer still and pressed a chaste kiss to Gethin’s temple. ‘I say, Gethin ...?’ 

‘Yes, Jonathan?’

‘I love you.’

‘Pleased to hear it. Love you, too, my Jay.’

‘Jonathan!’ Mike, the Northerner, waving from across the room. ‘Get over here will you, settle something for us...?’

‘I won’t be long,’ Jonathan said.

He jumped up and bounded across the room like a puppy towards the summons. A great, big, golden puppy with wings, true, but...

Silence rippling out from around Gethin and he found Jonathan’s Higher slipping into the seat next to him.

‘Look at him, after everything, running up to see if he can help...’

‘Like a young Golden Labrador, all paws and curious.’ Gethin voiced his thought.

‘A nice analogy. You know I said we’d see how he got on, that I’d review his performance, as it were, at epiphany?’

‘Yes, but listen, please, he’s just a puppy, a big, soft angel puppy, and you can’t... they say, a dog, it’s not just for Christmas, it’s for life... you mustn’t...’

‘See how happy he is, how easy with them? He’s doing so well now, he could go anywhere, do anything... I could find him a coveted place in a phalanx tomorrow, if he wanted it...’

‘I... Oh. If it’s what he wants...’ Gethin’s voice dropped to a whisper. You can’t, he wanted to say. You can’t bring us together and then smash us apart, not now, not after everything... ‘But... he can come back here, right? On his days off?’

‘It seems a coveted phalanx placement is no longer what he wants,’ the Higher said. ‘I already offered it to him; his answer was succinct: “Must I?”... and of course, no, not if he doesn’t want to...’

Gethin only realised as he exhaled that he’d been holding his breath. And that he was shaking.

‘He wants to be here, with you, he said. Which is fine, yes, we can arrange that; he will need a job, of course, he can’t just be wandering around randomly... I’ll return to talk career vectors with him at some point... he will continue to get his odd hunches and feelings and behave with apparent randomness...’

‘It’s part of his charm, really.’

‘You understand though, do you? You’ll be responsible for his care here, for keeping him safe from the onslaught of human impressions; they might threaten to overwhelm him, sometimes...’

‘I can do that.’

‘Yes... although you must realise... and I think you do, but I have to say it so that there’s no doubt... how did you put it? Jonathan Blake, your Christmas angel – it cannot be just for Christmas, it really is for life...’

Gethin squared his shoulders and got to his feet. 

‘Let’s hope I live a very long time then, shall we?’ he said.

He went over to his not-just-for-Christmas angel, put his arms about him and reached up to kiss his cheek.

‘Not just for Christmas, forever,’ he said. ‘If that’s all right with you, cariad.’

‘That sounds perfectly fine to me, Gethin... I say, Gethin...?’

And now he did sigh, felt he’d earned to right to pretend to be less patient than he was...

‘Yes, Jonathan...?’

‘You know the tree in the hall...? Could that be not just for Christmas too, do you think...?’

‘No, Jonathan,’ Gethin said, making his voice stern even though his face was smiling so much it hurt. ‘Not the tree. The angel, yes, we can find somewhere for him, but the tree? No.’

‘Oh, well, worth a try, I suppose... but as long as you can make space for an angel in your life...’

‘Only if you’re that angel. And as long as you realise – this – us – you and me – we’re not just for Christmas either.’


End file.
